Chapter 30

“You can leave early,” Don said. “I have a car, even. I can drive you home.” He let the thrill of this idea sink into his bones. He wanted to.

“You’re off tomorrow,” Raine said, stretching one long leg out, sticking a foot between Don’s ankles. “Don’t wake up early for me.”

“Are you a morning person? You are, aren’t you?”

“Five A.M., and I go for a run before breakfast most days.”

“No wonder you’re always in a terrible mood. What time do you want me to set this alarm, then?”

“Don’t,” Raine said. “Just don’t. Please.”

The please swung around and stabbed, unexpectedly.

Don listened to the falling rain while breathing, and then said, “If you don’t want to tell me why, that’s fine, but at least tell me if it’s something I did?”

“No!” Raine held onto him, then: an instinctive gesture, as if afraid of one or both of them slipping away; this more than anything was convincing. “No, you didn’t, don’t think that. It’s me. I need to—no, it’s not you. I swear.”