Clara sat on the edge of the bed while he sat on the floor, close enough for comfort—like a big, lost puppy needing a little warmth.
Her hand paused for a moment, fingers threading gently through his damp hair. With her other hand, she raised the blow dryer a bit higher.
She didn’t push him away. Tonight, Dylan really did seem like a stray, drenched by the rain and desperate for somewhere to belong.
After seven minutes, his hair was finally dry.
She thought he’d let go, but he didn’t.
Clara unplugged the blow dryer and wound up the cord, not sure what to say next.
Should she nudge him away? He clearly needed comfort right now.
But if she didn’t, they couldn’t just stay like this forever.
She glanced at the wall clock—almost ten.
“Dylan, you should get some sleep.”
He mumbled, “Mm,” but still didn’t move.
Clara ruffled his hair. “Come on, get some rest. We’ll figure everything out together tomorrow.”
He pressed his head gently against her waist, nuzzling her like he didn’t want to let go. “Okay.”
The closeness made her uneasy, so she stood up a little too quickly. “Alright, off to bed with you.”
She needed a shower anyway—the smell of smoke clung to her clothes, and she was honestly surprised she’d managed to hold onto him for so long.
She slipped into the bathroom, avoiding her reflection, and took a quick shower.
When she came out, he was already lying on the bed, quiet and still, fast asleep.
Clara walked over and looked at his face, half-hidden beneath messy hair.
She gently pulled the blanket up over him.
The little good luck charm sat on the nightstand, a silent reminder that he wasn’t really okay, no matter how peaceful he looked.
Clara whispered, “I’ll help you through this. You’re not alone.”
Without waiting for an answer, she climbed into the small guest bed at the side.
But of course, she couldn’t sleep.
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run