“I’m going to turn the light off. Unless…unless you need it,” I say.

She looks over at the switch, her mouth perched open for a few seconds, considering. “Is there…maybe…some other light? Not so bright?”

My eyes squint while I think, and I turn to my desk, to my laptop, which I plug in so the battery doesn’t die and flip open to my streaming videos, leaving it on mute so the only thing left behind is a small, blue hue cast about my room. I flip the switch and look to her.

“Is this enough?” I ask.

She nods, then pulls the blankets up tight to her chin.

I know she isn’t going to sleep, so I pull my phone into my lap as I nestle next to the bed on the floor, prepared to read until morning if I have to. I won’t leave her side.

I open up my reading app and scroll to the book I started a few months ago, before the semester started, and before I knew Emma was here. It’s an overly complicated sci-fi fantasy with so many characters that I have to scroll back to the beginning to remind myself what the hell is happening. I’m not sure why I bother, because my eyes are just reading words—I’m retaining nothing.

Several minutes pass, and the bed behind me is still silent. I know she isn’t sleeping though. I know, because I wouldn’t sleep either. I didn’t—for weeks—the first time someone jumped me at Lake Crest. I’d shut my eyes for quick rests, but my body never fell away completely. I was quick to wake at the smallest sound.

That’s where Emma is now.

“Emma?” I whisper finally, just wanting to reassure her that I’m here.

A few seconds pass, and I think maybe I’m wrong, maybe she’s asleep after all. Then I feel her weight shift on the bed, and soon her breath at the side of my face, her body so close to mine.

“I trust you, Andrew,” she breathes. I don’t look at her, her eyes are so near, her mouth…so near. I shut my eyes to avoid any temptation.

“Thank you, Emma. I’m sorry you can’t trust others…I…I shouldn’t say that. I’m just…God, I’m so sorry…” I ramble.

“I trust you,” she says again. “Please…please come up here. Please hold me.”

My lip quivers with this situation I’m in. My arms twitch to hold her, my instincts taking over and wanting to be the man she needs. But this isn’t how I wanted to hold Emma Burke at all—this isn’t the reason.

But it’s what she needs. So I crawl up into the bed, lifting the cover, and I pull her into me, my breath exhaling in time with hers as I feel so much of what she’s suffering from escape, if only for this moment.

“I’ve got you, Emma,” I say, my lips falling to her head. I sweep her hair behind her ear and kiss her head again, this time letting my lips stay there while I speak. “I’ve got you, and I won’t let go. I won’t let go now, okay?”

She nods one more time, and even though she never fully falls asleep, she lets her body rest. And I know what a triumph that is.

* * *

Emma – Earlier that Evening

It’s not like me to be afraid to talk. At least…not in small groups like this. That’s one of the things Miranda likes about me—I speak my mind.

But there was a vibe at the table throughout our dinner. I felt it all night. Something’s been…off. Miranda and Graham have traded snarky remarks, and from the small bits I have deciphered, I get the sense that she really doesn’t approve of many of his choices, and that there’s also a bit of resentment that runs rampant throughout their household. She’s mentioned more than once that he shouldn’t work so hard to take after his father, and there’s a tone when she says that.

When the conversation veered toward Tech Med programs, Graham was completely cut out of the conversation, and that’s when he started ordering drinks.

He’s rowdy now, and I can feel my cheeks burning while he stands on the corner of Washburne and Racine shouting at cars that drive by, asking if anyone’s an Uber Cab, his body teetering out into the roadway every so often, causing cars to honk. His mother left with the other deans and a man that seemed to be more than a friend, but clearly not her husband. She and Graham didn’t bother to say goodbye to each other, and I can still feel the ice.

“I’ll just call a cab,” I say for the tenth time. He isn’t listening to me.

Somehow, an actual cab drives by and responds to his waving. He grabs my hand firmly, the first time he’s touched me all night, and his fingers feel rough and sweaty. I slide into the back seat next to him, and he lets go of my hand. I reach forward and touch his arm, trying to get his attention. I want to go home. But he ignores me, leaning forward, relaxing both arms over the front seat and talking to the driver.