Page 59 of Into the Fire: After
I looked down for the first time.
Another ledge. Hazy eyes. Shaky legs.
But this ledge could get me closer to the sky. Close enough to touch?
I squeezed my eyes shut and gave myself a shake.
I was too tired. Maybe the stupid writers who drank crap coffee and created the scenes of my slumber were still working to push their stories out.
Backing away from the wall, I hugged myself and closed my eyes.
Sleep still to be had.
Eyes so heavy.
Inside bad.
I crossed to the sofa, dropping down onto the cushions and curling up so that the robe covered my toes. I fought my eyelids as long as I could, until the dark night sky merged with the dark of closed eyes and empty dreams.
Twenty-five
Brea
Olindawasanactualangel. A legitimate miracle-worker. In the words of my very adorable omega, a bona fidequeen of doing the things.
My residency mentor had been sympathetic to my struggle and absence to care for my unexpectedly unwell omega. Part of me felt guilty lying to Olinda, but ultimately it was better for everyone involved, at least for the time being.
And, if nothing else, the spirit of the lie was rooted in truth.
Either way, coming back to Farendale had meant facing the fact that I’d lost my shot at completing the program and graduating on time.
I should’ve known better than to underestimate Olinda, patron saint of ass-saving. Within a week of meeting with her, I was all set to restart my residency in the spring, alongside my capstone. My last semester would be sleep-deprived and busy as hell, but it was the absolute best outcome possible.
Forget patron saint. Olinda was a damn goddess.
The remainder of the fall term, I’d do as much prep as I could for capstone, as well as finishing out the last two lecture credits I also needed.
I was wrapping up a reading assignment on designation impacts on socioeconomic status when a key scraped in the lock and the door swung open. I closed my laptop and stood from the couch right as Brooks entered the apartment.
“Hey,” I said, surprised. “Don’t you work today?”
He tossed his keys onto the entry table. “Overstaffed, so they sent me home.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” Tucking my sweater tighter around my torso, I rounded the couch to stand before him and took his hands in mine. “I feel like I’ve hardly seen you since we’ve been back.”
Brooks frowned. It used to be a strange sight. “Everything okay?”
No, I can sense your unease, and I miss the smiles that used to be as easy as air, and I want you to talk to me about it.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s good,” I said and stepped through to the kitchen. Maybe a little physical space would take some of the pressure off him as I pushed just a little harder. “I just…we spent two weeks side by side every minute, and now it feels like I only see you in passing.” I straightened the folded dish rag on the counter to save Brooks from my undivided attention. “I guess I wanted to know if everything was okay on your end.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “As okay as okay can be, considering.”
Liar.
I nodded as if I believed him. My fingers rolled the corner of the towel backward and forward and scratched at the textured fabric. “Anything you wanna talk about?”
“Like?”
