Page 63 of Second Alarm

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"I don't need a pillowcase, Gemma."

"I know. But every time you see me for the rest of your life, I'm going to be holding one. Just as a gift. I want you to live with the knowledge that at Station 7, we know how to be discreet."

"I love you."

"I know."

I walk back inside, past the kitchen where Cal and Ty are at the table, Cal’s talking, Ty listening. Ty glances at me for exactly the right amount of time and no longer, and I keep walking, past the rec room, into the bunk room, up into my bunk, curtain pulled.

I stare at the ceiling.

At two a.m. my phone buzzes, face down on silent.

Ty: Are you awake.

Me: Yes.

Ty: I love you, Hanna.

I stare at the screen for longer than I've stared at a screen in my life.

Me: I love you too.

Ty: We're going to figure this out.

Me: Yeah.

Me: I'm going to lose my career in a linen closet.

Ty: We're done with the linen closet.

Me: Agreed.

I put the phone down.

Somewhere in the station, Derek is snoring.

I fall asleep.

Chapter 12

Ty

The linen closet was fine.

The linen closet wasn't fine.

I'm standing in my kitchen at nine thirty on a Thursday night staring at a kettle that's been boiling for four minutes because I forgot to turn it off, and the reason I forgot is that I'm trying to decide whether to send the message I'm about to send, and the message is going to ruin the only truce we've managed to negotiate in ten years.

I turn off the kettle, pour the water over the tea bag I don't want, and stand at the counter.

"Stop it," I say, out loud, to my own kitchen.

I pick up the phone.

Me: Can I come over.

I send it before the part of me that writes and deletes things can intervene. The bubble goes through. I put the phone face down and burn my tongue on tea that's too hot. Good. I've needed something to actually hurt for forty-eight hours.

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