Page 84 of Ladybirds

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

She wakes up with a weight draped over her waist and the muffled sound of her phone humming. Groggily, she looks over her shoulder. Seth still sleeps, his face relaxed and his lips parted around shallow breaths. Stripped of the years of torment and guilt, he looks younger.

From the floor, her phone goes silent for only a second before the vibrating starts up again. Another glance proves that Seth is having no trouble sleeping through it, but she’s glad she left it in the soft fabric of her sweatshirt pocket instead of the usual spot on the nightstand. She settles back onto the pillow with a soft sigh. The arm draped over her middle twitches when she shifts, his fingers brushing against her clothed stomach.

Her eyes slip shut; content. She imagines he’ll be mortified when he wakes up. Sara’s lips quirk into a smile at the thought.

Then her phone goes off again—this time short bursts that indicate rapid fire text messages—and she sighs. She really should get up and check it, but when she shifts away, Seth pulls her closer.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, gravel in his voice. The sound stirs something in both her lower stomach and her heart.

“I thought you’d be embarrassed,” she confesses, settling back in. “I was kinda looking forward to teasing you.”

“Too tired.” His jaw cracks around a yawn. “Stay. It’s Sunday.”

Another violent burst from her phone has her frowning. “It’s Monday.” Not that it matters. The only schedule she has to keep is her own.

Seth is quiet for a moment, but Sara can practically hear him struggling to put the days together. “Damn it all. You’re right.”

He sounds so dejected at being wrong, it pulls a small laugh from her. “I think we deserve to sleep in,” she says softly, shifting onto her back so she can see him more easily. It’s probably just Jen trying to fish some answers out of her, anyway.

The look of relief and the “thank god” he murmurs under his breath are equally endearing. The way he falls, almost immediately, back into sleep is even more so.

Feather soft, she brushes the hair away from his eyes. If she didn’t know she loved him before, she knows it now—can feel it simmering in her chest, a tangle of emotions she’s too tired to sort through. She holds his hand and drifts back to sleep.

There’s a pounding on her door.

Sara’s eyes fly open, a gasp pulling into her lungs. Beside her, Seth mumbles something incomprehensible and shifts further under the covers. A quick glance to the window shows that it’s late morning and she groans.

Jen.

Or Miles?

No, he’d be patient enough to wait till dinner. It’s gotta be Jen.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she rushes to get up as the beginnings of guilt seep into her stomach. Sara runs a hand through her hair hastily, cringing when the knocking continues. She should have at least sent a quick text assuring her friend she was ok.

Biting her lip, she closes the bedroom door softly behind her—hoping Jen won’t be so loud as to wake the man sleeping in her bed. The way he nodded off last night… he needs rest. Not just to heal, either. She has some strong suspicions that it goes deeper than that; the same way she’s almost certain he will wake with a voracious appetite. Hundreds of years with no food, no sleep… if his injuries caught up with him, she has to believe everything else will too.

God, her grocery bill is going to be horrendous.

Sara grabs her crutch from the spot on the wall, careful to keep her weight off her injured foot. She’d taken the boot off to sleep and doesn’t want to deal with velcro straps, but she knows there’ll be hell to pay if Seth catches her walking on it unprotected. Hobbling to the entry, she unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door, her lips parting around an apology only for it to wither before she can even speak the first syllable.

It isn’t Jen.

Sara stares at him, the breath knocked from her lungs and her mouth parting around words she can’t find. David stares back at her—blonde hair sleep-mussed and blue eyes panicked but clear. The freckles on his face hide behind a flush; skin dewy with sweat as if he ran the entire flight of stairs. She knows, in that very second of looking at him, that he’s back.

Her David is back.

Somewhere beneath the numbness, she recognizes that she should feel happy.

“Sara?” Her name is a hope and a prayer all rolled into one. She feels it sink into her skin with a familiarity that used to be comfortable. Now it just feels stale.

“David,” she says, body numb. His name tastes foreign—an echo of a bad memory. “What—”

“I remember,” he blurts, letting himself through the door of what was once supposed to be their apartment. “I remember everything and I—God, Sara. It’s all just this jumble, but I remember and—“

“We should sit down,” she says, cutting him off. The room feels off-kilter, her knee wobbling threateningly despite the crutch under arm. Her lungs don’t seem to be working right—struggling to pull in a full, even breath. “Please.”

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