The light on my smoke detector glows green in the darkness, giving me something to focus on as I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling.
She’s here and she’s safe.
I just have to keep reminding myself of that. Tomorrow we’ll talk about what comes next. If she doesn’t plan to stay with me, I’ll try to change her mind and convince her this is the best place she can be. Then I’ll convince myself that I can sleep with her down the hall. I’ll convince myself that I don’t need her any closer and that I can be the friend she needs.
My bedroom door clicks open, and the wedge of light from the hallway grows wider as it swings open. “Levi?”
I sit up in bed, blankets falling to my waist. “Is everything okay?”
She steps into the room, silhouetted by the hallway light behind her. She’s in a T-shirt that comes down nearly to her knees, and she folds her arms across her chest as she scans my room. “Yeah. I . . . I don’t want to sleep alone.”
Oh hell. “You don’t have to.” I pull back the covers and pat the bed beside me.
She starts to close the door and hesitates. “Do you mind if I leave it cracked? The dark is . . .”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” She pushes the door closed until only a sliver of light slants in from the hallway. I listen to her feet pad across the carpet and try to make sense of the tangle of emotions tightening my chest.
I hate that she’s scared. I love that she’s here.
She climbs onto the mattress and immediately rolls to her side, curling away from me. I shove my hands into my hair to keep them from reaching for her, but damn. Even from two feet away, I can feel her trembling.
“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”
“I have sleeping pills. My doctor insisted on prescribing them, but I just . . . I don’t like taking anything.”
“It’s okay.” I roll to my side and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her back against my chest. “I’ve got you.”
Little by little, she stops shaking and the tension in her back melts away. I lie there, listening to the sound of her breathing until it becomes low and even with the rhythm of sleep. Even then, I hold on to her—so she knows she’s not alone. So I know she’s safe.