Page 29 of Falling

I squinted at the bare wall in front of me.

Booker. I remembered him… lifting me?

Wow.

No one had ever lifted me clear off my feet before. Not since I’d been a toddler, anyway.

Apparently he’d carried me all the way…

Well, this had to be his bedroom, didn’t it? I’d glanced in when he let me use the shower, but I hadn’t really registered anything about it.

The bed had been comfy, at least.

I jumped as my phone started vibrating in my pocket and fumbled to get it out and stop the alarm before it could wake Booker. Wherever he was. He had to be somewhere, right?

I got my answer when I wandered out into the living area. On the sagging couch, under a plaid blanket that might have been as old as I was, the shape of his body rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. If I’d been asked, I would’ve expected him to snore, but as I watched him in stunned silence he never made a sound except for the faint creak of the cushions as he shifted his weight.

He’d slept on the couch. His own couch. And tucked me into his bed.

I crept to the bathroom to avoid waking him. By the time I was done cleaning up as best I could, Booker was sitting up on the couch, yawning and stretching his arms over his head.

“Hey,” I said.

I hadn’t meant to make him jump nearly out of his skin, but I couldn’t help laughing when he did.

“Yeah, yeah, sneaking up on an old man,” he said, a smile giving away that he wasn’t really upset. “Hilarious.”

“You’re hardly an old man,” I said, flopping down on the couch beside him now that there was space. I closed my eyes again, enjoying the body heat he’d left behind.

I was so exhausted my bones were googling last minute vacation deals.

“How’re you feeling?” Booker asked, soft and low and gentle.

“You mean how hungover am I? Not particularly,” I said. Now that I had my bearings, that was the truth. I’d made it out more or less unscathed, minus the passing out downstairs and waking in unfamiliar surroundings. “Tiny headache. Could eat my own weight in waffles. Comfy here.”

Booker chuckled. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I’m full of guilt,” I admitted. “You… I… look, I realize I just said you’re not an old man, but I’m too old to sleep on a couch, so I assume you are too.”

“I’ll live,” Booker said, shifting. Several cracks suggested he was downplaying the situation. I let him have it, since I got the feeling he was a man who didn’t like to be fussed over. “You fell asleep in a crowded bar.”

“I did, didn’t I?” I paused to cover a yawn. “Someone tucked a jacket around me.”

Someone ought to fuss over Booker sometimes. Everything I’d seen of him or heard about him told me he took care of everyone. Who was taking care of him?

“Ward, I think,” Booker responded. “He likes you.”

“I like him,” I said, blinking my eyes open so I could look at Booker. He was gently rumpled in the morning, hair just a little out of place, face softer than usual. “I… felt like people liked me, last night. It was like before. Before… y’know.”

“Stuff,” Booker finished for me. I was grateful he didn’t seem to be planning to make me talk about it again.

“Stuff,” I agreed.

A few heartbeats of silence passed, but they weren’t uncomfortable at all. I was never uncomfortable with Booker, for whatever reason. He must’ve had that effect on a lot of people.

“Thank you,” I spoke up again once I’d gathered the strength. “For taking care of me last night. You could’ve just shooed me out of the bar and sent me marching home.”

“You would’ve slept in the gutter. You were exhausted. And then I’d get in trouble with the town planners for it.”