Her hand touches my chest, but instead of her gentle or hungry touch, she holds her hand there, right where she can feel my heartbeat. There’s a tremor in her fingers, and my blood goes cold when I realize that Savannah was scared, maybe still is.

What the fuck has she been through?

I wish I knew what to say to her now. ‘I’m sorry’ doesn't’ work, and I understand why now. I’m sorry isn’t some get out of jail free card. It doesn't erase anything.

My stomach is sick as I think about how I just acted, screaming like an animal.

“I want to hold you right now,” I whisper across the dark, silent space.

“I can’t sleep,” she breathes. “I just want to sleep.”

“Just sleep,” I echo. Then she crawls forward, resting her head on my arm and holding her clasped hands between our bodies. My arm reaches toward her to hold her closer. Before too long, I hear her steady breathing in the dark.

I don’t sleep for shit. All I can think about is Murph’s shouting voice, hitting a nerve in my mind, erasing every wonderful thing we did in that hallway.

Murph is unpredictable. At times he’s a welcoming set of arms that gives me comfort, but then other times he’s a cold brick wall. I want to break it down, peel it away until I can get the beauty to that is beneath. The soft center that Hazel mentioned in the letter. But at what cost?

Hearing him fight with the other man had memories flashing back that terrified me. Suddenly he was Hugo screaming at me for something. Or the brawls behind his club, where sometimes the loser was hauled away in the back of someone’s car and probably not to the hospital.

When I wake up, he’s gone. I get out of his bed and quietly tip-toe into the bathroom where I can shower and dress quickly, hoping to avoid any encounter with him. After our late night rendezvous, I’m not ready to face him again.

Immediately, I notice the energy in the house is different. I can’t quite explain how I know, but when I walk into the living room, I realize the light is on in the hallway, and I follow it to the end where Hazel’s room is. It’s dim, but I spot a pair of boots on the floor near the bed.

Peeking inside, I lose my breath when my eyes catch Murph’s. They are bloodshot, sleepless, and the saddest I have ever seen them. He’s on a chair next to the bed, his elbows perched on his knees. On the other side of the bed, Ryder is sitting in a similar position. Ruby is on the bed, facing away from me, her head hanging, still and silent.

On the bed, Hazel is still breathing, loudly. Her eyes are closed, and every breath sounds like her last.