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“If she tells you to leave, you’re done. No harassing her or trying to change her mind.”
He sighs. “In the morning, let her know I'm here. She’s blocked my number.”
I shrug. “Maybe that’s your answer.” I turn back to the house. When I close the door, he’s back on the hood of his truck, leaning against the damp windshield.
CHARLIE
My night is restless, plagued by repeated dreams of Tucker, Lila, Tom, and Mark staring in horror at my scars, which are growing and wrapping around my entire body like huge purple vines. Several times I hear Mark murmuring against my ear, and I drag his arm around my waist until I fall asleep again.
I sleep late and wake up alone. I smell coffee and bacon, though, and that gets me out of bed. Bacon makes everything better. I brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair before going to the kitchen. Mark is flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs from a barstool in front of the stove.
“I was going to wake you if the smell of food didn’t,” he greets me.
“What’s all this?”
“Most people call it breakfast.”
“You’re making pancakes?”
He grins. “They are considered a traditional breakfast food in many cultures.”
I shake my head, retrieving plates and forks, butter and syrup, mugs and juice glasses. “This is a lot of food. Are Tucker and Lila coming over?”
“Not unless you have plans I don’t know about.” He pulls the last pancake from the pan and passes me a platter of them, then scoops eggs into a serving bowl.
I pour juice and coffee for us and sit across from him. I fall on the pancakes and bacon like a starving woman, and he chuckles.
“Hungry?”
I nod. “I’m still not sure why you made so much food. I mean, some of it we can reheat tomorrow, but eggs? It looks like you cooked the whole dozen.”
“I thought Blake might want breakfast.”
My fork slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. “Blake’s coming over?”
“Blake never left,” he corrects me.
“He’s here?”
He nods. “Say the word and I’ll get rid of him.”
I open my mouth, then close it, frowning instead. “Why is he here?”
“To apologize.”
I scoff. “He just needs to relieve his guilt.”
“That’s what I said.”
My gaze narrows. “You talked to him? When?”
“After you fell asleep last night.”
I tilt my head. “What did he say?”
“That he handled it badly. That he wants to make it right. And I think –” he looks at me, his expression carefully neutral “– I think he’s hoping this isn’t the end of things.”
I’m speechless.
