Page 115 of The Sound of Him

It's warm, too.

It's safe.

Something white catches my eye, half-covered by the corner of my blanket. It’s another note, but it’s too dark under the bed to read it. I press the main button of the iPod, making it glow from behind the wires wrapped around it, and tilt it toward the note.

It’s nearly identical to the one on my bed, just with the addition of him explaining that the iPod is up there in case I came directly under the bed and didn’t see it. I have to just close my eyes and be still for a moment as the immensity of his care washes over me.

Then I carefully unwind the wire for the earbuds and settle them into my ears.

For the messis the title of the newest playlist. The playlist he made just for me.

I press play.

The first song is the first he ever played for me. One of his favorites, he told me. It’s a good favorite. A good first song - for us, for tonight, for the mess inside our heads.

I start to cry again, but it's a good cry. A warm thing that feels like the relief I've been chasing after all day.

I can breathe again.

Chapter Twenty-four

Ace

I had two options for Carter and Casey’s housing since their move was going to be so last minute. The first was a nice house for rent, with three bedrooms and two baths, and a cute little fenced-in yard. The other was a decent-if-you-squint-at-it cramped loft apartment downtown for a fifth of the price.

I preferred the first, for obvious reasons.

As college students, however, it was only reasonable to put them in the second.

I’m wondering if that was actually the best choice as I stand in the empty living room, hands on my hips, surveying the place.

“This floor is tilted,” Keaton calls unseen from deeper into the apartment.

I don’t startle. I knew he was lurking around here somewhere. If he wasn’t already inside, I expected him to wander in through the door soon enough. That’s what he does. He just fucking appears. People probably think it makes him mysterious. Really, it’s more that he’s just such a hot mess, fueled by too much emotion and not enough patience, that you can't really predicthim. I won’t ever tell his secret, though. I’d hate to be the one to steal his street cred. The mysterious thing works for him. I’ve seen it.

Well, that and his ability to flip a switch and turn charm on so well it’s dizzying to watch.

The good looks probably don’t hurt, either.

I eye the supposedly tilted floor before arguing, “It is not.”

There’s a soft clunk from the back of the apartment. I look up, expecting to see him. Instead, I’m met with the sight of an empty bottle. It rolls slow and steady from down the hall and into the living room. I watch it with a heavy sigh as it rolls right past my right foot and toward the door.

“Okay,” I concede. “So… it’s tilted. A bit.”

“A bit,” he mutters to himself, appearing in the opening that leads from the hallway into the kitchen-living room area. He’s dressed in dark jeans, a dark shirt, and his black leather jacket. He’s wearing his heavy leather boots, too, despite sounding like he has socks on with how quietly he walks.

I eye the leather jacket with a frown. “Did you ride here?”

“I would never. This late at night? Dressed in such dark clothing? On these back roads? That’d be dangerous.”

Which is exactly the kind of thing that makes me think the fucker rode here.

“Kellan is going to take your bike again.”

“I’m not a child.” I arch an eyebrow at him. He turns away, opening the fridge door. “It has headlights, you know. And tail lights. But no, I didn’t ride here. You know, since I live on the coast. Like you did. Or like you… do? You kept your apartment, right?”

“Right.”