“Good night, Justin,” I say and hang up the phone and look down at the lock screen. A phone is so personal. He has everything in this phone, and he just left it to me. The Facebook app has a red number with ninety-nine, and then next to it is the Instagram app with the same number. I don’t open any of the apps, but I do check what he has and find Gmail, TSN, NHL, Zara’s Closet, and the Horton Foundation. There are a couple of others, but I don’t touch any of it. I will admit that I’m almost tempted to go through his pictures and see if there are any pictures of his family or even ones of him with other women.

The thought makes me sick, so I lie on the futon with his sweater in my arms. Slowly, my eyes close, and I dream of him and his smile.

When the alarm goes off, I groan out loud. Opening one eye, I see that it’s still dark but I can hear the birds chirping outside, so I look at Justin’s phone. Since it’s only four a.m., I set another alarm for six and then quickly fall back asleep. This time when the alarm goes off, it’s followed by a knock on the door. Groaning, I get up and walk to the door. “Who is it?” I ask.

“It’s me,” Justin says, and I open the door. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully. Walking into the apartment, he has his hands filled with coffee and doughnut boxes. He stops next to me and bends to kiss my lips. “You smell like me,” he says, and I shake my head and close the door. “You look tired.”

“Yeah, well, your alarm went off at four a.m.,” I say, and he takes a white cup of coffee and brings it to me. “Why do you get up at four a.m.?”

He hands me the coffee, and I take a sip while he walks back to the table to grab his own coffee. “I work out from four to five thirty.”

“In the morning?” I ask, shocked. “Why?”

“I usually work out after the rink, but I like the morning better,” he says, and I have to wonder if he does it because he’s stuck driving us home.

“You do that for us?” I ask, and he just looks at me and sits down at the table. Today, he’s wearing blue shorts and a white polo with his signature black and white Nikes.

“I need a shower,” Dylan says from behind me as he walks to the bathroom, ignoring or maybe not seeing Justin. He closes the bathroom door.

“I’m going to go get dressed.” I look at Justin who is just staring at me.