Page 39 of Beyond the Stroke

“If he wants to sleep on the hard ground, let him,” I tell Edgar. “I told him to go home so it’s his fault that he’s being stubborn.” I rage chug a glass of water, then climb up into my loft bed.

I lie there waiting for my heart rate to slow and my breathing to even out. Between the break-in and Rory refusing to leave, my body has been through a rollercoaster of emotion in the last half hour that is making it impossible to relax.

A few minutes of tossing and turning, and I can’t stop thinking about Rory lying outside on the ground. I’m torn between annoyance that he’s not listening to my wishes and gratitude for him not leaving. It’s a tricky place to be. I don’t know this man at all, yet there’s something so utterly comforting about him. It’s infuriating.

Finally, I throw back the covers and wielding the golf club again, I yank open the sliding door.

Rory is still on the ground, exactly where I left him.

“Fine. You can sleep on the floor in here,” I announce.

Without a word, Rory dusts off the debris that’s accumulated in his hair at the back of his head, then rises to his feet to follow me inside. For the second time tonight, I climb into my loft bed, but this time I toss Rory down a pillow and a blanket.

From my perch, I watch as he folds the blanket in half as a makeshift mattress, then fluffs the pillow once, twice, three times before he tucks it under his head.

A few minutes later, I’m settled back into bed, but sleep is nowhere near.

“Summer?” Rory calls out, interrupting the quiet between us.

“What?”

“I’m sorry today was rough.”

I swallow thickly, Rory’s words bringing up the emotion I’d been working hard to suppress.

“I’m here if you need me.”

I suck in a silent, shuddering breath.

The tears I’ve been holding back are too heavy to keep at bay any longer, so I bury my face into my pillow and let everything out.

“Hey.” Rory’s soothing voice floats over my side. He’s standing at the side of the loft. “You can tell me to fuck off, but I can’t lie down there and listen to you cry.”

“Because it’s too loud and you can’t sleep?” I sniffle.

“No. Because it’s breaking my heart.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip to stifle the emotion that his words bring.

“What do you need, Summer?”

It’s a moment of weakness, which for the last four years I’ve been determined never to show.

What do I need?

A new lock on my van.

Health insurance.

Money to pay for my medication.

Safety and security.

But all those things come with a price. And if there’s one thing I learned from my family, letting someone take care of you is a debt that you end up paying with your soul.

I can’t need Rory for anything that will cost me my independence.

“A friend,” I whisper.

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