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Me: That is the least romantic thing anyone has ever said after phone sex.

Dalton: It is medically sound.

Me: I hate that I like you.

The message sends before I can stop it.

I freeze.

The reply takes longer than the others. Long enough that my stomach turns for a new reason.

Dalton: I know.

I stare at it.

Another message appears.

Dalton: I hate that you left.

The smile slips from my face.

The room feels real again. Simone’s couch. The blanket. The dark window. My hand over my stomach. I hold the phone with both hands.

Me: I know.

Dalton: Don’t do it again.

Me: I’m trying not to run anymore.

His reply comes after a few seconds.

Dalton: Good.

This time, the word doesn’t make me hot. It makes me tired. Safe-tired. The kind where my body finally believes it’s allowed to put things down for a while.

Me: I should sleep.

Dalton: Yes.

Me: Bossy.

Dalton: Yes.

I smile faintly.

Me: Goodnight, Dalton.

Dalton: Goodnight, Maggie.

I set the phone face down on my chest and close my eyes.

For once, I don’t fall asleep because I have exhausted myself running.

I fall asleep because, for tonight, I’ve stopped.

Chapter Thirteen

DALTON