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And awake what feels like a second later, though the clock on the nightstand says it’s midday.
“Wha?” I croak, not sure what jostled me, and not giving a fuck. I throw an arm over my eyes. “What the fuck.”
“Rise and shine.” West grabs my arm and shakes me, then grins down at me. “Lots to do.”
“Like what?” I grumble, and then I remember. I sit upright. “Kash!”
“Right here,” a quiet, tired voice says, and that jolts me almost out of my skin.
“Kash.” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in one of West’s T-shirt and sweats, blond hair so long it curls against his jaw, his smile rueful, and his eyes clear.
Aware.
Just like that. Just some antibiotics, some saline solution, and he’s back.
Sydney shoots me a brilliant smile and I stare at her, transfixed. So fucking bright, that smile. Blinding. Fucking happy, without a shadow marring it anymore.
I had forgotten what her face looked like when not twisted with worry, when her eyes were always sad and her laughter half-hearted before.
“Morning.” I yawn, rub my hand through my hair, scratch at my chest. “Where’s West?”
“Cooking breakfast.”
Wow. That explains the nose-breaking smell wafting through the apartment. “Kash? How you doing, man?”
“Better,” he says, tucking his hair behind his ear. Such a typical Kash-gesture. “Tired.”
I’m staring at him, mouth open, but nothing forthcoming. I guess I hadn’t expected a reply, one that made sense. I hadn’t expected him to seem so… normal, after the night we had.
And suddenly, I’m bowled over by the fact he’s here, and doing better, and that it wasn’t all a dream.
“Come here, asshole.” I lunge over the mattress and grab him in my arms. Sydney squeals, Kash grunts, and then his arms are around me, too. “Fucking asshole. We looked for you everywhere,” I snarl against his shoulder, my arms too tight around his sharp ribcage, “gave up hope and found it again a hundred times. Fought with the police, thought up all sort of theories. Sydney cried.”
“Nate!” She gets on the bed and puts her arms around us both.
“What? You did. She cried for all of us, man. Because I couldn’t. I haven’t fucking cried since I was a kid, and I’m fucking crying now, you bastard.”
He draws a sharp breath, and Sydney’s hand is in my hair, but there’s no stopping it, this goddamn flood, this burn in my eyes, in my throat, this rattling in my lungs, each breath coming out as a gasp that hurts my chest.
“Bastard,” I say again, choked and broken, “fucking jackass. How could you do this to us? We need you.”
Then West is climbing on the bed, too, and all I can think of is, thank fuck we got a bigger bed, and I hope the breakfast won’t be burned to a crisp, and nothing else fucking matters.
Nothing else except the four of us together, here on this bed, our bed, our arms around each other.
Chapter Fifty
West
We’re sitting in the living room, on the carpet around the coffee table, inhaling breakfast. I’ve cooked everything we had in the fridge—made omelets, and crisp bacon, and grilled cheese sandwiches, and pancakes.
We’re all inhaling the food, even Syd who normally can’t compete with us in that department. Color has returned to Kash’s face, Nate’s eyes are red-rimmed but he’s grinning around a huge bite of food, and I feel… content. Centered.
Not all the way, because maybe I’ll never be able to find that balance, but as close to that perfect equilibrium as I’ll ever come.
I should call in sick to work. I should get off my ass and shower, clean the kitchen, clean the apartment. But I don’t wanna move, this feeling of completeness, of perfection too precious to shatter.
Besides, I keep hearing Nate’s voice in my head with that cheerful sneer, saying, “we’re fine, West. We’ll be fine” and “you’re strong. So strong.”
