Page 3 of Not Catching Love

The second I open it, I’m going to be tempted. Seeing Seven and Molly asleep will tug at my willpower because I know the comfort I’ll get by climbing into that bed. I wish I could give them boundaries, but I struggle with separation from them more than anyone, and whenever one of them tells me no, it’s not like hearing it from other people.

Their no means I hate you. I’m sick of you. I never want to see you again.

I grit my teeth and stick the eyes to the doorknob first this time, and then I lean in for a heart-to-heart.

“You need to help me,” I tell it. “You have to make sure that once I’ve confirmed they’re alive that I leave again, okay? You’re like … like their guardian. Or their guard. Something to stop me from being able to enter. Got it?”

I’m assuming the door says yes because it’s not like doors can think for themselves.

I grip the handle, remind myself that Iwillleave, and slowly open the door. My breath is a ball in my chest as all the worst-case scenarios flash through my mind—them both, eyes open and unresponsive, or victims of a break and enter, or buried under a collapsed ceiling.

The room inches into view. It’s dark, clothes strewn on the floor with a crack of light from outside peeking through the heavy curtains.

My favorite mop of hair is splayed out on a pillow, and beside him … nothing.

A slice of panic hits, and I remind my brain it’s being stupid. Getting ahead of itself. There is no way in hell that Seven got up for a glass of water and had a heart attack on the way downstairs. There’s no way he’s gasping for breath somewhere.

No way, no way, no way.

I cross the hall to the stairs as fast as I can and don’t even try to keep quiet as I throw myself down them. Seven has to be here somewhere. He has to. He’s like me in that he struggles to sleep, and the perfectly logical explanation is that his thoughts are getting too loud for the night. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last, but I need tofind himand be sure.

I need to be certain.

I need to see him.

Need to?—

“Z?”

Relief explodes through me, and I do a one-eighty to find Seven’s followed me down the stairs. All six foot three of his redheaded, tattooed form steps off the bottom stair and onto the polished wooden floor. He’s okay. He’s alive. I can breathe again.

“Ah, hey,” I say.

He studies me. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“Sure, of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I thought an elephant had gotten inside and fallen down our stairs.”

I slide my foot in a circle over the floorboards. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I glance up, and all of my insecurities, all of my worry and anxiety and every little thing that’s ever popped into my head and spun me off course, tries to get loud. “Nothing. Everything is okay now.”

He doesn’t believe me, which isn’t a surprise because we know each other inside and out.

“Why are you awake?” I ask.

“Stupid, flop damn nightmares.”

“Need a hug?” I suggest, desperately hoping he says yes because I can’t leave this hall without one.

His lips twitch. “Badly.”

I cross the hall to throw myself into his arms, and I’m reminded why this is my favorite place in the world. Seven is like a shield for my spiraling thoughts. He can’t stop them, but he gives me an extra layer of protection, and sometimes that’s enough.

Chapter Two

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