Page 85 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“Or what?” My voice gets tight.

“Or if you're just scared.” His words hang between us like a challenge.

My eyes widen. “I'm not scared.” I snort, but it sounds hollow even to me. My hands shake a little, and I put down my glass before he notices.

“So Valerie has nothing to do with this.” It's not a question, and her name feels like a knife between my ribs.

My jaw clenches, and my hands curl into fists under the table. The familiar ache blooms in my chest, bringing up memories I've tried to bury. “I don't want to talk about her,” I growl past the lump in my throat.

“Look, Logan, I miss her too.” His voice gentles. “She was my friend, too. But life goes on. You can't keep punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault.”

“I know.” Do I? Or have I just been going through the motions for five years?

“All right then.” Stephen leans back, studying me. “So Emily's just not the one. She doesn't make your heart race. You don't feel like you can't breathe when she's not around. You don't want to spend every minute with her.”

A memory flashes. Emily in my kitchen, hair a mess, wearing my T-shirt, laughing at something on her phone. How my heart skipped, how something in my chest loosened, like coming home after a long trip. The thought of her not being there stabs me in a way I'm not ready to face.

“Since when are you such a sap? And no, none of that.” The lie tastes like crap.

“I'm just a romantic.” He shrugs and finishes his beer with a decisive thunk. He suddenly looks sad, as though he's carryingsomething heavy. I don't know what's up with him today. It's more than just worry about me.

“I should head home,” I say, standing up. The chair scrapes against the floor. Maybe I can still fix things with Emily and find some way to make it work without crossing my lines.

“Okay, bud, see you.” He punches my shoulder, then flags down the server for another beer. There's something resigned in how he does it, as though he's settling in for a long night. I know I should stay and make him talk and be the friend he's being to me, but all I can think about is Emily.

I'm a shitty friend.

Outside, the cool night air hits me. I flag a taxi since I didn't drive because I didn't want to risk it after drinking. I give the driver my address and lean back in the seat.

It's fifteen minutes home, plenty of time to think about what to say to Emily.

I can't give her more. The thought's a broken record, a shield against feelings threatening to drown me. She hasn't asked me to marry her, but someday she will. It always goes like this. Two people meet, hook up, get engaged, marry. Then comes the white picket fence, the dog, the baby.

And then...

I can't do it. I can't risk losing Emily like I lost Valerie. The fear twists in my gut like a living thing with teeth and claws.

The taxi stops, and I pay, the bills damp from my sweaty palm. We can still be friends. I don't want her to quit. I know she needs the money. And I don't want to kick her out. The thought of her struggling, facing the world alone, makes something protective rise in my chest.

The elevator dings, and I step out. I unlock my door and flip on the lights.

But Emily's not there. There's no TV noise, no humming from the kitchen, no soft footsteps.

“Emily?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty space. No answer.

I walk to her bedroom and knock, then wait. No response, not even sheets rustling. With my heart in my throat and dread spreading through me, I turn the knob and look inside.

The bed is neatly made, the covers smooth, and the pillows perfect. Everything is in order. All Emily's things are gone. Her clothes, her romance novels, everything. The room is eerily clean, like she was never here.

Suddenly, I can't breathe. My lungs won't work, my chest squeezed in a vise. I stumble into the room, frantically looking around as though her stuff might appear if I look hard enough. The closet is empty, the drawers bare.

I sink onto the bed, my legs giving out. She's gone. Really gone. And I didn't even get to say goodbye. I didn't get to tell her?—

Tell her what? That I'm sorry? That I'll miss her? That what I feel for her is more than I've let myself feel since Valerie?

I sit there for a long time, the silence pressing in, until I finally drag myself to my room. Sleep doesn't come, and my bed is too big and empty. When I finally drift off, my dreams are full of her.

And when I wake, the emptiness is still there, a hole inside me I don't know how to fill.

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