Page 14 of Dating After the End of the World
That makes me smile. She and I have been friends since we were little kids, although we’ve lost touch ever since I went into residency. Completely my fault, not hers. The hospital became my whole life, so it’s been what feels like a lifetime since we’ve last talked, let alone seen each other.
“Then I’ve got the Carter family staying out in the cabins.”
“Who?”
“You’ll meet them tomorrow. They’re good people, and they needed help, so I took them in.”
We continue into the dimly lit house, where the only light comes from the glowing embers of the fireplace set in the corner. The large open-concept living room, kitchen, and sitting area are furnished with several couches, chairs, and tables. There used to be only one of each, but he’s clearly added more to accommodate the extra people. His bedroom door to the right of the living room is closed, and I wonder if it’s still his or if he gave it up. On our way through the kitchen, he grabs a glass bottle of water and a granola bar.
“In case you’re hungry or thirsty,” Dad says, handing them to me.
I pocket the granola bar and unscrew the cap from the bottle, drinking nearly half of it in several gulps. I didn’t realize until the water hit my sandpaper tongue, sitting on top of it for a brief second before absorbing in like I was a neglected houseplant, that I haven’t had anything to drink since before the burners burst into Nate’s place.
“Thanks.” I hold up the bottle.
“No need to thank me, Casey. I’m your father. My job is to take care of you.”
“I’m twenty-nine, Dad.”
“I don’t care if you’re fifty. You’ll always be my daughter, so I’ll always take care of you.” He picks up a lantern from the island counter and ignites it. “I’m sure you’re tired, so let’s get you to bed. We can talk more tomorrow, when you’re well rested.” The lantern provides enoughof a glow to see in front of us as we walk up the stairs off the kitchen. The flame licking at the glass creates a dance of light and shadows on the walls, a macabre kaleidoscope of black and white.
I follow him down the hallway to an open side room that used to just be a sitting area but looks as though it’s been converted to a bedroom with no privacy, since steps off it lead up to the third floor.
“JJ sleeps in here,” Dad says.
These stairs are much narrower, so he takes them slow. “I left your room open ... sort of,” he adds as he stops in front of my bedroom door.
“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”
“You have a bunkmate, but it’s just temporary until I can finish another cabin.” Dad turns the handle and pushes open the door, allowing me to enter first.
“Is it Tessa?” I ask, feeling along the wall for the light switch. Once my hand finds it, I flick it on, and my childhood bedroom comes into view. It’s large, around fourteen feet by twenty feet, and looks nearly the way I left it, except for the presence of a second bed pushed up against the far wall beneath the bay window.
A man lies sleeping on his side with a blanket covering his lower half. His wide, muscular back is on full display, and his hair is cut short, military-style. There’s a tattoo of the NavySealinsignia on his shoulder. Is Dad trying to set me up? Because, wow, this guy is ... My thoughts are cut off when he rolls over. His brawny arm covers his eyes for a moment before he pulls it from his face, revealing those vomit-green irises.
“Ughh ... turn the lights off,” he groans.
As soon as I recognize him, I see red. No fucking way. This can’t be happening.
Chapter 8
“Dad, why is Blake Morrison in my bedroom?”
My father furrows his brow, his eyes darting back and forth between Blake and me. “Oh, you two already know each other?”
“Of course I know him. He’s a bully, and he ruined my life.”
Blake swings his legs out from under the covers, showcasing that he’s only wearing a pair of boxer briefs. He sits up and rubs at his eyes, and while I can see the build, face, and stature of a nearly thirty-year-old man, my brain instantly morphs him into a fourteen-year-old creature of terror. A menace on the warpath with one goal in mind: making my life a living hell.
Seven. Thirty-one. Twelve.
I spun the lock on my burnt-orange steel locker and lifted the metal handle, expecting to find my jacket hung up on a hook, my backpack, and a small stack of textbooks—but no. Instead, dozens of canned foods spilled out, crashing to the floor and rolling in all directions. My cheeks immediately flushed, as all eyes were on me. I glanced to the left and then to the right, finding Blake Morrison, with dark hair cut short on the sides and an evil smirk. He was surrounded by his friends, and they were all pointing at me, howling with laughter.
“Hey, Head Case! This is a school, not a bunker to store your doomsday supplies,” Blake teased, still laughing.
Tears built, threatening to spill out, but I sucked them back in as my hand balled up into a fist at my side. I wouldn’t let him see me cry. Instead,I closed my locker and started to stomp off—but my foot rolled over a can of corn and sent me tumbling to the floor.
“You can’t even survive your own feet, Pearson,” Blake hollered.
