Page 101 of Disarm
She nods. “Sign in.”
I scribble my name on the clipboard and head up the stairs two at a time. The hallway on his floor is mostly quiet, punctuated by bursts of laughter behind some doors and the tinny sound of someone’s music leaking out of headphones.
His door is closed.
I knock.
No answer.
“Caleb?” I call, keeping my voice low so I don’t look like a psychopath. I knock again, harder this time. “Baby, it’s me. Open up.”
Still nothing.
I press my ear to the door. Silence. No music. No movie sounds. Not even the rustle of movement.
Okay. Okay. Think.
Roommate.
I tap on the door next to his, then knock for real. It takes a minute, but eventually there’s some shuffling, and the door cracks open, chain still latched.
His roommate blinks at me, hair sticking up in every direction. “Uh, Miguel, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry, man. I know… but is Caleb… Is he in his room? He said he’d text when he got back from the game and he never?—”
“Yeah,” the guy says quickly, unlatching the chain. “He got in like an hour ago. Came in and I heard him say something about ‘Miggy’s gonna kill me, my phone died,’ and then face-planted on the bed.”
“Can I…?” I nod toward the shared side of the suite.
“Yeah, dude.” Roommate swings the door open wider. “He’s out cold. I checked to make sure he was breathing and everything. Come in, it’s cool.”
I cross the small shared bathroom and push open the door to Caleb’s room with a fingertip.
He’s there.
He’s fine.
He’s sprawled on his stomach, half under the weighted blanket, hair a mess, mouth open just enough to snore softly. My hoodie is bunched up around his shoulders. His phone is plugged into the wall, the dark screen blinking with the little charging icon.
There’s an empty Gatorade bottle on the nightstand and a crumpled granola bar wrapper. The air leaves my lungs in awhoosh, so violent it makes my vision swim. I lean my shoulder against the doorframe and stare at him.
I scared the shit out of myself.
Because he… fell asleep.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand, finally booted back to life, and the screen lights with a flood of notifications. One of them is my name. I step closer and put a hand on his back. His skin is warm through the fabric.
“Caleb,” I say softly, squeezing. “Baby. Wake up.”
He groans into the pillow, then turns his head, eyes blinking open, unfocused. “Mmmph. What—?” He squints. “Miggy?”
“Yeah.” I try to keep my voice light. “Your phone died and you forgot how to communicate like a human, so here I am.”
He flips onto his side, pushing up on one elbow. His hair’s plastered to his forehead, pillow creases on his cheek. He looks so young it hurts.
“Shit.” He reaches for the phone, sees the missed calls, and winces. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. I thought I plugged it in on the bus and it didn’t, and then I… I just crashed as soon as we got here. I was gonna text you, I swear.”
“I know,” I say automatically. “It’s fine.”
