Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
FREYA
“Here.” Valerie presses a mug of tea into my hands as I sit cross-legged in the corner of the couch.
“Thank you.”
“You feeling okay?”
I sigh, rubbing my thumb along my eyebrow.
“I think so. I mean, it’s not like any of my stuff got damaged.
” Oscar texted about an hour ago to say that the fire had been contained to one of the apartments on the ground floor, that it was something on the stove that got out of control.
He’s back at the station now, finishing his shift.
Valerie tips her head to the side as she sits by me, eyes as perceptive as ever. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t scary.”
“No,” I breathe. “Definitely still scary.”
When the alarm first went off, it felt like the world was ending. It was so loud I thought my head was going to burst. That feeling only went away when I saw Oscar get out of the truck.
Valerie reaches out to squeeze my knee. “You’re taking it like a champ.” She gives me a playful wink. “I mean, you seemed to be doing better than my son.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, he can be a worrier.” I don’t want to admit it, but I kind of like it. It’s not the way my mom worries, like she thinks I can’t manage. It’s more so that he’s always taking note, seeing what I’m doing and trying to figure out ways he might be able to help.
Valerie frowns, her eyes clouding. “He really cares about you, Freya.”
It’s not the words that stop me breathing, it’s the way she says them. As if she’s trying to reach into my chest and tie them inside of me.
“I know,” I finally get out.
She watches me, reading everything I’m not saying. I see now where Oscar gets it from, his ability to cut right to the heart of people.
“Do you think Oscar’s alright?” He looked so distressed when he arrived, I’m worried how he’s holding up.
“He’ll manage. This kind of stuff is just hard for him.”
“What kind of stuff?” Surely he’s accustomed to dealing with fires?
Valerie pauses, weighing her words. “Did he ever tell you about his dad?”
I tap the edge of my fingernail against my mug. “I know they were close, and that he passed away.”
Valerie gives a sad smile. “Did you know that Oscar was with him when it happened?”
“What?” My spine stiffens. Why didn’t I know about that?
“It was all very sudden.” She has to clear her throat. I put down my mug on the coffee table, reaching across to take her hand. “The two of them were out fishing when Tom had his stroke. Oscar did everything he could, but…” Her voice fails her and I scoot forward to pull her into a hug.
It’s almost unsettling, seeing Valerie looking this fragile. She’s usually so stalwart, perpetually unflappable.
“Do you know what caused it?” I ask.
She releases me with a pat to the shoulder. “Apparently there was a blood vessel in his brain that was just weaker than the others.”
“I’m so sorry, Valerie.”
She gives me a sad smile. “It was incredibly difficult for Oscar, not being able to help him. It’s made him a bit overprotective, especially with the people he loves.”
I flush at her use of the word, even though I know that’s not how she means it. God, I can’t imagine how hard that would have been for Oscar.
After all that, what if I’m too much for him? “I don’t want him to worry about me.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I think that ship’s sailed.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“That boy’s crazy about you, I don’t think that’s going away.”
I lie awake, listening to the hum of the dishwasher and the quiet sounds of Valerie sleeping in the next room.
The light from the hallway seeps through the crack under the door, casting Oscar’s room in a soft light.
I can just about make out the outline of band posters still tacked to the wall, and the circles of discoloration on the ceiling left over from glow-in-the-dark stars that have long fallen off.
I roll over, pulling the comforter with me. The bed’s only just long enough, my toes hanging off the end. Grabbing my phone from the bedside table, I check the time. I have to squint as my eyes struggle to adjust to the brightness, but I can just about see the numbers reading 2:04 a.m.
Is this too presumptuous? Is Oscar gonna mind me sleeping in his bedroom, looking at his things?
I groan, finally admitting defeat. There’s no way I’m getting to sleep tonight, not after everything that’s happened.
I slide out of bed, trying to keep my steps light as I pad across to the drawers against the opposite wall.
Scattered across the wood are various trinkets, a few sports medals, some rocks, a collection of framed photos.
I press a finger against the glass of one, and my own tired reflection stares back at me.
I was halfway through brushing my hair when the alarm started blaring and I can see the mess now, still unresolved.
Past the ghost of my own face, there’s a photo of Oscar, caked in mud and wearing a soccer uniform, tucked behind the glass.
He looks about fourteen or fifteen, and there’s a man next to him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders.
I recognize him from the pictures downstairs.
Oscar’s dad. He beams down at his son, pride radiating from his every pore.
I reach up and try to rub away the pang in my chest. I imagine Oscar trying to save his father, feeling so helpless, so alone.
I wish I could reach back and be with him.
He’s been there for me so often, showing up every time I’ve asked and all the times I haven’t. I want to offer him the same comfort.
There’s another frame behind that one—a picture of Oscar on a school field day.
He’s sprinting down a track, but it’s not him that catches my eye.
In the corner of the image, barely visible behind the heads of other kids, is me.
I stare at my younger self, the way her shoulders curl in, making herself as small as possible.
A few kids down the line from me is Jamie Riley.
It’s strange, seeing Oscar and I in the same space. I wish I could remember him better. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have felt so lonely.
A sound from downstairs shakes me out of my reverie, a soft thud and a grunt. I should be wondering who it is, but I don’t need to ask. Because where else would he be?
I grip the handrail tight as I make my way down the stairs. Things don’t feel the same as they did when I last saw him. Even though just a few hours have passed, something’s shifted.
Maybe I just know too much now. It’s torturous keeping up the walls I’ve been clinging to, all because of my fears of being hurt. Again.
Distance has always been like a parachute for me, but now it’s like someone’s started unraveling it from the edges, and soon enough I’ll end up in free fall.
Oscar’s shuffling around, propping pillows up against the arm of the couch.
He lifts up the blanket, obscuring his face as he gives it a shake.
When he drops it, I finally get a good look at him.
His hair’s a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there are dark circles under his eyes.
Did he just get in? Or has he been here a while, struggling to sleep just like I am?
“Oscar?” I whisper, wary of disturbing Valerie.
He looks up, eyes wide. “Freya!” he hisses. “Shit, did I wake you?”
“Are you okay?” I take a step toward him. He folds the blanket in half and tosses it down onto the cushion.
“What are you doing up?”
I shrug, rounding the couch. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He reaches out, cupping my elbow and tugging me the last few paces until our toes touch. “Is everything okay?” His hand comes up, palm cupping my cheek as his thumb strokes a soft path under my eye, leaving sparks in its wake.
“I’m fine, just a bit wired.”
“Yeah.” He sighs, his breath puffing against the top of my head. “Yeah, I bet.”
“Did you just get back?”
“No, I’ve been here for about an hour.”
“You’re still up?”
He smiles awkwardly, giving a little wince. “This couch wasn’t exactly made with someone like me in mind.”
Even calling it a couch is a stretch. It’s more of a loveseat, barely long enough for him to lie down, even with his legs curled up.
“Come upstairs.”
“You sure?” He runs his long fingers through my hair, catching on a tangle, and I have to suppress a giggle as he has to work to detach himself.
I nod, looking into his eyes. “I’m sure.”
I take him by the hand, leading him up the stairs as if this is my home and not his.
When we reach his room, neither of us moves to turn on the light.
Anything is possible this way, and nothing could be bad or wrong when we’re wrapped up in the shroud of darkness.
Oscar snakes an arm around my waist and kisses my cheek.
“I don’t think we’re both gonna fit,” he whispers.
I take in the twin bed, only just wider than the couch and maybe a foot longer. I don’t care, and if it means I can be even closer to him, then it’s all the better in my book. “We’ll make it work.”
Oscar steps away from me and pulls back the covers before gesturing me in. I slide back into the warmth I left behind and scoot over until I’m almost touching the wall. Oscar follows, but it becomes clear that this bed was not designed with two people in mind.
There’s some shuffling, a grunt as I accidentally drive my elbow into his side, and more than a little frustration as we try to find a position that’ll be comfortable for both of us.
Eventually, Oscar grasps me by the waist and tugs until I’m splayed half on top of him, head on his chest and legs tangled.
His arms envelop me, only leaving my back as one reaches down to grab the sheet, pulling it over us.
Our breaths sync up as we lie in our newly made cocoon.
I wonder what we’ll emerge as.
“How come you’re here? You didn’t want to go back to your place?” I ask.
“I needed to be near you. Just in case.”
I hide my face in his neck, breathing in his scent. It’s detergent and coffee, but there’s that hint of smoke that never quite goes away. “Why didn’t you come up?”