Page 240 of Smooth Sailing

Any sleep still lingering vanished at the vibe coming off him, and I pushed up to a hand in the bed to try to see his profile.

The light was dim.

I still saw his face looked carved from granite.

My stomach curled into itself.

“When?” he bit off like a quiet bark.

But I heard it.

I heard the pain.

Oh no.

What was happening?

I pressed closer.

“Okay, yeah,” he said. “Yeah. We’ll be up.” A pause and a final, “Yeah. Soon’s we can.”

He took the phone from his ear.

“Honey?” I called when he just lay there, on his side, unmoving.

He continued to lay there, on his side, unmoving, his arm with his phone in hand resting on the bed like it had stopped working, his eyes aimed at nothing.

Now I was getting scared.

“Honey?” I asked more urgently, trying to push his big body to its back so I could get a look at his whole face.

Suddenly, he dropped his phone to the bed and reached out to turn on the light.

I blinked against it, and when my eyes became accustomed to it, I saw he’d fallen to his back and he was looking at me, but even so, his handsome face had a blankness to it that was terrifying.

He lifted both hands and rubbed them over his face, something he did a lot in the mornings when he was in the midst of a Morning Hugger Haze.

But this wasn’t about that.

When his hands fell to his sides, I climbed onto him, chest to chest, and caught his jaw in both hands.

“Harlan, what’s going on?” I demanded.

“That was Tyra,” he said.

Oh God.

Why was Tyra calling so early in the morning?

Hugger told me.

“Pete died in his sleep last night.”

I didn’t know it until that moment, but the world had rushed out from under both of us.

Unable to hold it up, my head fell, my face landing in his chest.

Hugger sifted his fingers in my hair, cupping the back of it.

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