Done.
The stairs creaked.
Daniel, coming up.
No time to get back to the bathroom. I crossed the room in two steps, dropped onto the bed, pulled the blanket to my chest, shut my eyes. The pillow was crooked. I didn’t care. My heart was slamming so hard the mattress seemed to move. I uncurled my fingers one at a time and made them look asleep.
He didn’t turn on the light.
Came in. Stopped at the head of the bed. The glass lifted. Set down. A soft click of glass on wood.
He crouched.
His palm swept the carpet at the foot of the bed. Once. Twice. Then his fingers found nothing, and his hand stopped.
The TV mumbled downstairs. The only sound left in that room was his breathing. And mine.
He stood. His phone clicked. Cold light stabbed in from the edge of the blanket.
The light moved to my face.
