Corbin sighs. “I wish you were here right now. If we’d already told Tate… you could be here. You could be falling asleep next to me.”
The thought makes my chest tight with longing. Part of me wants to grab my keys, drive over, and crawl into bed with him just to be close.
“Soon,” I promise quietly. “Soon.”
“Good night, Jules,” he says, the sound low and full of meaning.
“Good night, Corbin,” I whisper.
When I hang up, the silence in my apartment feels heavier than usual. I turn onto my side, pulling Corbin’s flannel tighter around me like it’s a stand-in for him.
My thoughts drift to that night Tate was sick. The night Corbin stayed and held me briefly. I miss that. I misshim. Not just for what we’ve done lately, not just for the physical things, but forthat. For the comfort of having him there when life feels overwhelming. For the warmth of his presence in bed, the sound of his soft breathing beside me.
But it’s not just him I miss. It’sthem. Corbin and Tate. My family.
If Corbin and I can figure this out—if wereallytry—maybe I wouldn’t have to miss them at all. Maybe I’d get to have what I’ve wanted all along.
We need to tell Tate. He deserves to know.
The thought tumbles around in my head as my eyelids grow heavier and sleep starts pulling me under.
Soon, I think as I drift off. We’ll figure it out soon.
But there’s a sound—sharp, relentless, blaring. A loudbeep, over and over again.
My eyes stay squeezed shut for a moment as I try to place it. It’s annoying. Constant.
Then I cough—hard—pulling in a lungful of air that tastes like smoke.
Panic slices through me.
My eyes fly open, stinging and burning as I bolt upright in bed, heart pounding against my ribs like a drum.
The beeping. Smoke. My throat tightens.
My brain struggles to catch up, but when it finally does, realization crashes into me.
The fire alarm.
I cough again, harder this time, as thick, gray smoke creeps into the room like an unwelcome shadow.
Oh my God.
I snatch my phone off the nightstand, fingers shaking so hard I nearly drop it. I stumble out of bed and race for Tate’s room, the smoke growing heavier with every step.
But his bed is empty. Empty.
For one heart-stopping moment, my body turns cold.
Then I remember he’s with Corbin. He’s safe.
A shaky sob escapes my lips as relief floods me. But I don’t have time to dwell. I spot Igor on Tate’s bed and grab the robotic snake, clutching it to my chest like a lifeline as I drop to my knees.
The hallway is a haze of swirling smoke. I get low, crawling fast, one arm wrapped around Igor, the other shielding my face.
Fire. Oh God. There’s a fire.
The acrid smell makes my eyes water, my throat raw.