Page 173 of Unexpected Heroine

And why isn’t Stella snoring? How am I supposed to sleep with her just breathing normally instead of sawing logs?

This is madness.

Can you imagine missing the purr of a man’s snore? I never would have believed it, but it turns out that Tomer’s snore is a lullaby I can’t sleep without. It’s the white noise I never knew I needed. So here I am, staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night with my damn hand reaching for my phone so I can google snoring sounds.

What fresh hell is this?

Instead of googling snoring sounds, which is probably grounds for an inpatient stay at the Sunnyside Inn, I grab the phone and slip into the bathroom. Before I close the door, I look over at Stella sleeping silently on her side of the bed.

Yes. Her side. Ugh. Not even a hand or leg crossing over the middle of the bed. And if I look closely enough, I can see the ice crystallizing on top of the comforter where her frozen feet are.

Disappointed in myself beyond measure, I close the bathroom door and get into the tub, drawing the curtain closed behind me.

Clothes on.

No water running.

Just me, my phone, and the empty tub.

I stare at the white tile, mind wandering in the lovely way it does. Mentally, I travel to the mystical land where unicorns exist, and llamas get smashed on watermelon moonshine. No clue how long I sit there in silence. Sadly, no matter where my squirrel brain journeys, it always comes back to him.

To Tomer. And my broken heart.

My phone grows heavy in my palm.

This is it.

This is the moment of weakness Stella and Freya tried to protect me from. When I might do something stupid, like texting him.

Please note I said texting. Never calling. Never.

I could be bleeding in a gutter with my hands broken clean off, and my only hope for survival is to call for help. Instead of asking Siri to voice dial 911, I’d ask her to send a text to someone to call an ambulance for me instead.

That said, it would be nice to hear Tomer’s voice. But at what cost?

My eyes fall to the phone once more. Wistfulness consumes me when I tap in the code to unlock it since he disabled my face ID thing.

Fuck sticks. I miss him.

Instead of opening a text thread with him like I want to do, I swipe to the music app and scroll through my various playlists. It dawns on me how little music I’ve listened to lately. Perhaps that’s part of the problem with my mood. You know... aside from the whole life implosion thing.

Above most other things, music has always been the thread that weaves all my emotions together and helps me find something beautiful in times of desolation. Much like Tomer did with his presence, music helps me cut through the fog of chaos in my mind. That’s why I sing so much.

Or why I used to sing.

Sorrow and grief can be spun into gratefulness with the right song. The perfect lyrics can transform heartbreak into a lesson in strength. Even a poignant melody can stir up longing for something you once disregarded as inconsequential, making you realize how much the little things matter.

Little things like how he never once made me feel guilty for my wandering thoughts or when I asked him to repeat himself, sometimes three times in a row. The magical way he knew when I needed extra cuddles. Or how he was there waiting for me at the end of a shift, even if he was tired and hadn’t slept. How he made sure I always had my contact lenses. Never embarrassed me for being a klutz, just picked up the million things I dropped or knocked down as I fluttered through my day. And the way he rubbed my lower back when I got my period.

Then there were bigger things like flying Stella to Florida to comfort me after this fucking nightmare. Never left my side for days. Never once made me feel ashamed of my cowardice. Or when he ran into that house with a full-on tactical team to pull me from the grips of hell, then went back and burned it down for me.

His tenderness and compassion.

His heart—wounded as it may be.

His devotion.

His intelligence.

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