Page 131 of Liam

“Nothing. Just… one second.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps it a few times. The call rings, loud enough to know it’s on speaker, and I go back to feeling Liam’s pulse beat against my cheek, letting out a silent sigh when he settles his hand on the back of my head, holding me a place.

“Yo,” the male on the other end says.

“Hey, Logan.”

“What’s up?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the lake? About the different types of hugs?”

“Yeah.”

I peer up at him, and he smiles down at me. “You were right.”

“I fucking told you.”

“Bye.”

“Later.”

Liam hangs up, slips the phone back in his pocket. “What different types of hugs?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

I pull back. “Do you think we can skip the walk? Maybe go back to the cabin, watch one of your very odd, but fascinating, documentaries?”

He smiles to one side. “I have one saved about people with pickle obsessions.”

“Sounds perfect.”

We start off sitting next to each other on the couch, watching people argue about the best variant of pickle. Within minutes, we’re lying on the couch, me half on top of him. This lasts only slightly longer before he complains the couch is too small, and because the TV is mounted on a movable stand, he’s able to roll it to the bedroom, where we are now—him sitting up while I lay my head on his lap.Something about a pickle-eating competition. He untied my hair from its braid a while ago, ribbon and all, and now he’s lacing his fingers through the strands, stroking gently. Soon, I’m sure, he’ll feel the scar I work hard to hide.A woman who collects ceramic pickles. My eyelids feel heavy, and with every blink, it takes more strength to open them again.

Pickled pickles.

Liam

Addie gasps awake at the sound of her phone ringing, her eyes wide. She’s quick to sit up, shifting the blankets to her waist as she looks around. She’s so out of it, I’d laugh if it wasn’t so fricken cute. “Oh, no! Roman… I told him I was just going for a walk.” She’s patting the space an inch from her waist as if her phone will be right there. It’s not.

“Relax,” I say. “I messaged him and told him you fell asleep here.”

She stops with her frantic searching, her shoulders dropping. “You did?”

“Yep.” I nod. “He hasn’t seen it yet, but I didn’t want him worried about you.”

“Thanks,” she says while her phone continues to ring. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours.”

She rubs her eyes. “What haveyoubeen doing?”

“I’ve literally been sitting here, statue still. I tried to lie down, but you kept stirring every time I did, so I just resigned to my fate.”

She giggles at that, and I smile in response. Her hair’s matted on the side she’d slept on, and it sticks out in all directions. Her eyes squint when a particularly bright scene plays on the muted TV. “What time is it?”

Her phone stops ringing as I check my watch. “Midnight. On the dot.”

“That’s weird,” she says, just as her phone rings again. “Where the fuck is it?”

“On the nightstand next to you.”

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