Page 73 of The Design of Goodbye
“I guess.” He leaned against my wall and casually rested his arms on his knees. “I must’ve felt—I guess I was comfortable.”
Once positive we wouldn’t be stepping on any needles, I tossed all the remaining fabric scraps in my trash can. “You make it sound like my floor is better than your bed.”
“My bed’s fine.”
He was completely relaxed, which was rare. I bet his skin was still warm from the blankets. I liked him here, waking up with me.
“Are you hungry? My dad made us breakfast.”
“Your dad knows I’m here?” He was on his knees in an instant, fumbling for his stuff.
Oops, I’d totally forgotten to tell him this not-so-tiny bit of information.
“Yeah, but it’s okay,” I said quickly. “He’s not mad.”
He relaxed. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. He made us cinnamon rolls.” He let go of his stuff as I stood. “Want some?”
“Do you even have to ask?” He grinned. “Strange coincidence, though, considering they’re my favorite.”
“I thought so, too,” I said, trying to hide my smile. “Coffee?”
He nodded. When I got back, I set a large tray with two steaming cups of coffee and a pile of cinnamon rolls in the middle of my floor.
“So,” I started after Ifinallyate a bite of gooey cinnamon roll. “Are you going to tell me why you couldn’t get into your house last night?”
He ate some cinnamon roll, stalling. “I don’t have a key.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not allowed to have one,” he answered. “So, sometimes, I get to my house, and the front door is locked.”
“Where do you go?”
“The gas station. Meijer’s.”
“How do you sleep?” I imagined him falling asleep on one of those small tables some gas stations had for customers to eat their day-old hot dogs and greasy pizza. I imagined him hiding on one of the metal shelves in Meijer’s to get some sleep. It made me sad.
“I don’t. I did a little in the summer, since I could sleep on benches, but—”
“Sleep onbenches?”
“It wasn’t too bad. Although, the mosquitos—”
“Liam,” I pressed. “That doesn’t sound safe.”
“I’m okay. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be!” He winced at my tone, and I lowered my voice. “You should be allowed to go home whenever you want. It’s your home, too.”
“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Not really.”
I cut my cinnamon roll into tiny pieces. I felt...restless at what he’d admitted, kind of like I should do something to help him but didn’t know how. “I’m surprised you told me the truth.”
“That’s because I don’t lie.”
I stopped my mindless cutting. “Wait, you’re serious?”
