he and I get any more serious than we already have, I’ll be forced to tell him the truth—that I’m dying. By the grace of God, Sawyer doesn’t see my tumor, but me, and I selfishly don’t want to lose that.
Nerves feast on my stomach as I don’t know what to do. With or about him. I don’t know if I should run away to save us both from pain, or maybe it would be better if I don’t run at all.
“I like being with you, too,” I say, and while that’s not a new declaration, there’s something in how I become shy as I say it and how his eyes glint with happiness that makes this moment absolutely sweet and terrifying.
Footsteps on the stairs and Sawyer glances over his shoulder. My pulse quickens as there’s no one there, but we both hear the footsteps continuing down each step. Sawyer moves to stand in front of me, as if he can protect me from the unseen.
“Who’s there?” he says, but no one answers.
“It’s four forty-five,” I say. “It happens every morning at this time. The same as at midnight, but these steps are always heavier, darker than the ones at midnight.”
We both stare, seeing nothing, but the hair on my arms stands on end, and when I look down, Sawyer’s skin is prickling as well. He feels it, the energy, the ghost. My mouth turns up as I run my hands along his arms. “Do you believe now?”
Sawyer raises an eyebrow as he returns his attention to me. “I believe it’s an old house that settles with the changes in air pressure.”
I seductively tilt my head with a pout. “Is that what you believe?”
I love how Sawyer’s eyes darken as he watches my lips. “Which answer gives me the greater odds of kissing you again?”
I laugh, and as he leans in for another round, the door at the top of the stairs opens and Sawyer and I jump.
“I see you on the monitor,” Dad says, and I swear to God I blush from head to toe. “You need to come up, and Sawyer needs to decide what type of man he’s going to be.”
“Great,” I whisper, but I give Sawyer major credit when he offers me his hand. I take it, and we walk with our fingers linked together up the stairs.
“Sir,” Sawyer says as Dad stands at the door indicating for us to walk in. Once inside, I see Mom at the piano bench. She turns her head, and when our eyes meet, a strange electricity hits me, headfirst. I’m stunned and then the world turns. Fast, too fast. Dizzy, I waver.
“Veronica?” Sawyer says, and there’s a strong arm around me. I don’t respond, I can’t respond. It’s like my tongue has become too big. Sawyer talks, Dad talks, there’s buzzing and then there’s complete and terrifying silence. The floor beneath me gives and I fall. Like a feather, down a hole and then I’m caught.
Sound returns, as if someone literally flipped a switch, and I’m able to blink, able to talk, able to function. As I go to regain my footing, I feel something soft beneath me. The couch. I’m on the couch. I sit up, and there’s immediately hands on my shoulders keeping me in place. Dad. It’s Dad. His scared eyes bore into mine.
“You okay, peanut?” he asks in a low tone. A conversation meant just for us.
“Yeah,” I say, and then do something I swore to Mom I’d never do. I lie. Directly. About my health. I promised. I know I did, but she also promised she’d be okay and she wasn’t and now if I don’t lie, I will lose what I’ve found tonight, and I can’t let that happen. Not yet. “Ice-pick headache.”
Dad eases down onto the coffee table, and I’m impressed it doesn’t collapse under his weight. He rubs a hand over his face as if he’s tired and then stares straight into my eyes. I work on trying to look normal. A breath in, a breath out, blink.
“You know how these headaches are,” I say. “They hit hard and fast. I should have probably stayed in bed for longer than what I did.”
“You can say that again.” A war wages within him, and I pray he believes me. I need him to believe me. With a sigh, he gives his verdict. “But it is what it is. Thank you for being man enough to face me with her, Sawyer.” Dad holds