The Crush (The Crush Series Book 1)

The Clock

Fatigue was starting to feel like a friend. A partner to keep pace with me as I moved from task to task, lingering no matter how hard I tried to wave it away.

It was persistent. Hovering nearby, waiting for an opportunity to assert itself. So constant that some nights I almost hated to sleep at all, hated to give those few hours an opening to let me know how tired I really was. As if I needed reminding.

I was surviving on coffee, remembering to start a new pot even when I forgot to eat. I’m not sure when I stopped tasting it, stopped caring if it was even hot as long as it was strong.

Each cup acted like a log sheet of my time. One more hour. One more cup. One more hour. One more cup. On and on until the drip ran dry, until I was so fidgety that I had no choice but to take a walk. True exhaustion and false exhilaration echoing with each step, whether it was on carpet or concrete.

I should have gone to bed. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t seem to pull myself away from the work, too focused to even remove my badge as I hunched over my coffee table and the carefully organized stacks of papers atop it.

Never have been able to leave something unfinished.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Had the clock on the wall always been so loud? Had it always moved so fast? Maybe it was broken.

Maybe I could fix it.

“Danny.”

My head jerks up at the sound of my mamá’s voice, and I squint at that same loud clock just to ground myself.

She shouldn’t be here. It’s too late.

But she is. She’s standing in the light from the front room lamp, a soft smile on her face, her curly hair rustling in the breeze from an open window, her left hand straying to the pocket of her burnt-orange apron. The warm glow almost seems to fade in and out as I look at her with sleep-strained eyes. I squeeze them shut as they start to water, and my chest starts to ache.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Danny,” she says again, crossing the threshold so she can stand beside me where I sit on the sofa and place a gentle, encouraging hand on my back. “It’s time to go now. You’re done here.”

“I am done.” I lean forward, my hands quick to close stuffed case files and sparse reports so she won’t see. “I’m done. I just need to take care of one last thing.”

She hums in acknowledgment, brings her hand up to tug at the ends of my hair where it curls over my collar. “I’ll wait then.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I don’t remember falling asleep, the light going dark, the quilt pulled over me to keep me warm. I don’t remember her leaving again.

Maybe I can fix it.