Page 72 of Beyond Protection
"Terrorizing the neighborhood," I said.
"Should I call SWAT?"
I smiled. "Please don't shoot Ma's wildlife."
We stood there another moment. The cold seeping in. Reality settling.
"We should probably—" he started.
"Talk about this. Yeah." I shivered. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow." Eamon's voice was soft. "Go inside before you freeze."
"You too."
"In a minute."
I went inside. Climbed the stairs. Got back into bed and stared at the ceiling constellations with my fingers pressed to my mouth, feeling the ghost of his beard rough against my skin.
My phone buzzed.
Eamon:Definitely a possum. Big one.
I smiled in the dark.
Mac:Terrorizing the neighborhood.
Eamon:Go to sleep, Mac.
Mac:You too.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then:
Eamon:Not sure I can.
Mac:Because of the possum?
Eamon:Because of you.
I set the phone on my chest. Let myself feel it—the wanting, the fear, the possibility of something real.
Sleep came eventually.
Dreamless, for once.
***
The following morning, the kitchen was bright when I finally came down. Eamon was at the sink, drying his hands. He glanced up when I walked in, and the look that passed between us—acknowledgment, memory, and the echo of his mouth on mine—nearly stopped me in the doorway.
"Possum," he said. Voice steady. Professional. "Big one. Knocked over the recycling."
"We've already established that," Marcus said dryly from the table. "Multiple times. Via text. At two in the morning."
Ma smiled into her coffee. She knew. Of course, she knew.
They all probably knew.
I slid into the chair across from her and tried not to smile.
