KIERAN
FIVE
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the warmth.
For a few blissful seconds, I lay there with my eyes closed, cocooned beneath expensive hotel sheets and pleasantly sore in ways that made me smile.
The events of the previous night drifted through my mind in scattered fragments—laughter over fries and birthday cake, Christmas lights reflecting in Thane's eyes, having him inside me, the warmth of his big, beautiful body, and the feeling of falling asleep in his arms instead of alone.
Then I reached across the bed. My hand met cool sheets. I opened my eyes. The other side of the bed was empty. My smile faltered.
Thane was gone.
I pushed myself upright and looked around the room. The only evidence that he had ever been there was the faint scent of his cologne lingering on the sheets.
After a moment, I slipped out of bed and padded toward the bathroom.
The shower helped. At least a little. The hot water eased some of the lingering stiffness from sleeping in an unfamiliar bed and gave me something practical to focus on.
By the time I finished showering, brushed my teeth with an unopened dental kit I found beside the sink, and pulled yesterday's clothes back on, sans boxers, my mind had already begun performing the sort of mental gymnastics it usually reserved for final exams and worst-case scenarios.
Maybe he'd regretted it. Maybe waking up beside me felt different than falling asleep with me.
Maybe I was already turning a few hours of conversation and one incredible night into something it had never been.
Maybe I was proving, once again, that I had a talent for getting attached to people who weren't planning to stay.
The thing about spending your childhood moving from one temporary place to another was that you eventually learned not to expect permanence. People left. Circumstances changed. Promises disappeared. Even good things had a way of ending when you least expected them to.
I wasn't standing in a hotel room heartbroken over a man I'd known for less than twenty-four hours.
I wasn't.
But as I shoved my phone into my pocket, I couldn't ignore the small, stubborn ache that had taken up residence somewhere beneath my ribs.
One night didn't automatically mean more. One conversation didn't guarantee a future. One incredible birthday didn't magically transform into a love story. The logical part of my brain knew all of that. Unfortunately, the logical part of my brain hadn't spent the previous evening with Thane.
Cold air greeted me the moment I stepped through the revolving doors.
The city was fully awake now, commuters moving with purpose while holiday shoppers hurried along the sidewalks carrying brightly colored bags.
Somewhere nearby, Christmas music drifted from a storefront speaker, cheerful and relentless.
A few minutes later, I boarded a bus. The ride gave me too much time to think.
By the time I reached my apartment, I had replayed the previous evening so many times that individual moments had begun to blur together.
I kicked off my shoes and stood in the middle of the living room for a moment. The silence settled around me almost immediately. I sank onto the couch and leaned my head back against the cushions.
The emotional crash wasn't dramatic. There were no tears, no declarations of heartbreak, and no fantasies about what might have been.
I had spent less than twelve hours with Thane.
Rationally, I knew that. Unfortunately, rationality had very little defense against loneliness.
And for the first time since waking up, I let myself admit the truth. I missed him.
The admission sat uncomfortably in my chest for a few moments before I pushed myself off the couch. Sitting there wasn't accomplishing anything except giving my thoughts more room to wander, and my thoughts had already proven they couldn't be trusted where Thane was concerned.
The first thing I did was change into softer clothes.
Jeans and a button-down shirt had made sense for a birthday dinner.
They felt ridiculous now. A few minutes later, I was wearing an old university hoodie that had survived almost four years of classes, laundry cycles, and bad decisions, along with a pair of worn sweatpants that probably should have been retired months ago.
I wandered into the kitchen and made coffee, more out of habit than actual desire for caffeine. While it brewed, I stood by the window and looked out over the street below.
The apartment building sat a few blocks from campus, tucked between older brick buildings that housed a mixture of students, young professionals, and people who had probably lived in the neighborhood long before the university started expanding into it.
Down on the sidewalk, a student wearing a university hoodie hurried toward the bus stop with a backpack bouncing against his shoulders.
Across the street, someone wrestled a rolling suitcase down a flight of steps while another person loaded boxes into the trunk of a car.
Christmas break had begun.
Some people were heading home to families and traditions. Others were staying put for one reason or another.
The neighborhood carried on around them. Cars moved through the intersection. A delivery truck stopped outside the corner café. Somewhere below, a dog barked enthusiastically at something only it could see.
Life continued.
The world didn't stop simply because I'd had one unexpectedly perfect night.
Coffee mug in hand, I returned to the couch and reached automatically for the blanket draped across the armrest. The fleece was soft from years of use, and I pulled it over my lap.
A moment later, I grabbed the nearest pillow and tucked it against my side before opening the novel I'd been halfway through for nearly two weeks.
I managed exactly four pages before the words began to blur together.
Every few paragraphs, I caught myself rereading the same sentence because my attention had drifted somewhere else entirely. One minute, I was supposed to be following the plot. The next, I was remembering the way Thane laughed or the warmth of his hand against the small of my back.
Eventually, I gave up.
I slid the book onto the coffee table. I settled deeper into the cushions. And despite everything I'd told myself that morning, the last thought I had before falling asleep was about Thane.