21. Lynne （Now）
Lynne (Now)
It was after midnight when Lynne trudged back up the stairs to her apartment, and she was surprised to find Leo sitting on the couch, wide awake, television on.
He was wringing his hands nervously, eyes focused straight ahead.
He didn’t turn toward her when she closed the door.
It was as if he hadn’t heard her arrive.
Twig was curled against his thigh, as still as could be.
She rushed over. “Oh, no. Is Twig okay?” When she placed a hand on the kitten, it tilted its head up and met her gaze with slow, appreciative blinks. Her racing heart finally settled.
“He’s fine,” Leo said. “He’s just keeping me company.” He scratched Twig’s head, and the kitten started purring but didn’t open its eyes. Leo grabbed the remote and muted the TV.
“And Fred?”
“He’s with Mama and the others, of course. Keeping watch by the door.”
Lynne nodded and slumped onto the couch opposite Leo.
For a moment, the awkwardness crept in at high volume.
He could’ve texted her that he was going to spend the night back at his place.
She half expected him to after today. Or he could’ve already been asleep on the couch when she crept in.
She would’ve expected that, too. But here he was, saying nothing but clearly chewing on a thought.
She had to admit there were only a few times she’d seen Leo March unnerved to the point of silence.
Once was at his dad’s funeral. But this time, it had to be her fault.
There was no way around it. He was here to say something that was going to crush her.
He wasn’t going to talk to her anymore, would drop the Nine Lives Club, his firefighter job, never show his face in O’Donnell’s again.
He’d move away from Autumn Ridge because of her.
She braced herself for the impact.
But Leo let out a long sigh and turned toward her. “I need to share something,” he said quietly. “I know you said friends was safer. I need someone to hold this with me. I just … I need a friend. I need my best friend right now. And that’s you.”
She felt a lump bob in her throat. It was like seeing Leo the child all over again, vulnerable and wearing his heart on his sleeve.
She didn’t answer him. She just reached her hand across the couch and laced her fingers through his, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He gave her hand a squeeze and glanced down at Twig, dozing contentedly.
Then he told her about everything that had unfolded after he left the apartment—his talk with Chief Bob, their discovery about the linked alarms, the likely connection to his dad’s death.
He felt happy then robbed all over again.
It could’ve been prevented. He felt relieved.
He felt helpless. By the time he was done explaining, they were both wiping away tears.
“I hate knowing the truth doesn’t give me more time with him,” he confessed.
Lynne nodded. “Yeah, I know that feeling.” Then she paused, afraid to ruin the moment with whatever she said next.
“I’m glad you told me. I’m glad you investigated things, that you figured out the problem.
It sounds really dangerous, and I’m glad the inspector already started looking into it.
” She sighed. Nothing felt exactly right coming out of her mouth.
Nothing felt like enough to make it better.
“Can I do anything?” she finally landed on.
“You know—right now? I can make us coffee. Or talk. Or not talk. I don’t know what would help,” she admitted.
“Nah,” he said, his thumb swiping back and forth over her knuckles in a slow, steady rhythm. “Just listening was enough.”
It wasn’t. How could it ever be? She wanted to kiss away his tears.
She wanted to kiss him, hard, like they’d done earlier this morning, just to shield him from the pain for one moment.
She wanted to crawl back onto his lap and wrap herself around him and never let go.
But if she did any of this, it would be about easing her fears, not his pain.
She told him they should just be friends, and now that’s exactly what he was asking her to be.
“I should probably get home,” he said.
“No. Please, stay,” she insisted. She stood. “Here, let me get a blanket.”
Before he could refuse, she dimmed the lights and found her fluffiest throw and disappeared into her bedroom to change into her pajamas. By the time she returned, Leo was stretched out on the couch. Twig was nestled onto his chest. Moonlight spilled onto both of them through the curtains.
She draped the blanket over him, tucked it just below Twig’s tiny tail, and positioned herself so his head could rest on her legs.
Her fingers found his hair and combed through the strands, so thick and sleek.
This is what her dad used to do when she was younger and upset—finger-comb her hair until she fell asleep.
“So how was the bar tonight?” he asked.
And she told him all about it. At some point, his hand linked again with her free one and rested against his shoulder.
“I think I want to keep her,” Lynne said softly.
“Who?”
“Mama. She reminds me of Mazzy a bit.”
“Maybe we can get Dr. Hart to get her spayed and Fred neutered. If he lands the job. And before we have to figure out which season to name another litter after.” She felt the smile behind his voice.
“Here’s hoping,” she agreed.
They sat in silence for a while. Then Leo said, “Hey, Lynne. You never called me ‘kid.’ Everyone else still does. Why is that?”
Lynne stared down at the dark outline of his profile, the curve of his nose, the faint shine of his eyes in the TV’s muted reflection. “Because you’re not.”
He huffed out a weak almost-laugh, more breath than sound. Then the silence stretched out again, comfortable and terrifying all at once. He gave her hand another slow squeeze, and that was answer enough.
She didn’t quite know when they stopped talking. At some point, his eyes closed and his breathing evened out. Twig’s purrs deepened, and the weight in her chest softened just enough to finally let her rest.
She drifted in and out of consciousness until the words slipped from her mouth. “I think I love you, Leo.”
He didn’t reply. The only sound that filled the dark, hushed room was the faint ticking of a clock.
Whether she’d said it aloud or only dreamed it didn’t matter.
Now she knew.