Mom is doing better.

I answer my sister quickly enough to hopefully put her anxious mind at ease: Good. I knew she would.

I’m still worried. Something’s just not right.

I hesitate, not knowing what to tell Cadence until I settle on: You’re a worrier. Mom is fine and she knows she can come to us if she needs anything.

My fingers reach up to the collar of my throat, to that dip where a thin chain would rest if I was wearing a necklace. It’s a nervous habit, but instead of touching metal it’s only skin brushing against skin as I assure myself, yes, she would. Mom would tell us if she needed us. She’d tell us if anything was wrong.

My message to my sister goes unanswered even though I’m aware she’s read it and so I start to doubt myself. Without waiting any longer for her to reply, I promise her I’ll be home this weekend and we can have a girls’ night. Just the three of us.

Her joke about me having time off over a reporter and bad press makes me roll my eyes, but more than that, I’m grateful for the distraction. I shake my head at the thought that all that’s wrong right now in my life is just bad press. What a pretty little lie.

The truth will come out and you’ll be back to your workaholic self. It’s the last text she sends before I plug in my cell and decide I really need to sleep. I’ve barely slept to the point where now my eyes are raw and dry. I got in a half hour catnap earlier but woke up with my heart beating out of my chest. If I can sleep tonight without waking up in a panic, I’ll count it as a win.

No sleeping pills, though; I want to stay alert. No, I think as I sigh heavily, I need to stay alert.

The moment I lay down, a satin wrap around my hair and the blanket tucked all the way up to my chin, my phone pings but it’s not my sister like I expect.

I’m only a phone call away. Cody’s message elicits a guilt that barricades my throat. I have to swallow it down before telling him I know and I’m here if he needs anything.

I add in a thank you, although it doesn’t offer me any peace. I shouldn’t be thanking him for my independence.

It’s not like we’re more than fuck buddies and I almost tell him that, but my wretched heart hurts daring to think the words, let alone say them. I don’t want anything more, and neither does he that I’m aware of. So all of this … the protection he’s given me … it’s just him being kind and doing what he knows how to do. I appreciate that.

I appreciate you, I write to him because that’s all I know how to say right now. It doesn’t explain why the back of my eyes prick with unshed tears and I suddenly feel so alone.