Page 180 of His Reckoning

The nightmares still come.

Not every night, but often enough.

When they do, Kayla wakes up before I’m fully out of them … every time. With her hand in my hair, her voice low and steady, telling me to breathe. Somehow, it works. The panic fades faster now.

That should concern me more than it does because the more I get used to that, the harder it’s going to be to go back to sleeping alone.

Kayla finishes the yogurt and slides the container across the counter.

“So,” she says, “I saw an apartment in the Village yesterday.”

My shoulders tense automatically. “Kayla.”

“What?”

“You’re not moving out.”

She rolls her eyes. “I can’t live here forever.”

“I’m very persuasive.”

She laughs. “You’re impossible.”

I don’t answer. The truth is, I haven’t let myself think about what will happen when she leaves.

Not really. It’s easier to pretend that conversation doesn’t exist.

Kayla studies me for a second. She scoots off the stool, grabbing her coffee.

I know I need to talk to her—really talk to her. I need to confess my feelings. But I’ve never done this before, and every time I try to, I freeze.

By late afternoon, I’m already halfway dressed when I walk back into the kitchen.

Kayla is sitting at the island with her laptop open again.

Her hair has escaped the knot on top of her head, and strands keep falling into her face. She blows them away without looking up.

The refrigerator door is open again. Of course it is. I grab a bottle of water and shut it.

“You do realize refrigerators work better when they’re closed?”

She keeps typing. “Creative people require constant snacks.”

“You’ve eaten three yogurts today.”

“Research.”

“For what?”

She finally looks up. “The psychology of dairy.”

I shake my head and finish buttoning my shirt.

It’s Sunday, which means dinner at my parents’ house. Normally, I’d be out the door already, but tonight, something makes me hesitate.

Kayla finally notices. “You’re hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”