Nothing Less (Landon Gibson 2)

“Do you guys have any plans for the weekend?” Tessa asks. She’s struggling to tie her apron around her back, but just as I move to help her, she ties it.

“Not that I know of. I think he’s just sleeping here and leaving Monday afternoon.”

Tessa does her best to maintain a neutral expression. “Okay. I’m working a double shift today, so don’t wait up for me. I won’t be home until at least two.”

Tessa has been working nonstop since she arrived in August. I know she’s doing it as a distraction, but I don’t think it’s helping. I know she’s going to stop me, but I start my lecture anyway.

“I really wish you wouldn’t work so much. You don’t have to help pay anything. I got enough money from grants, and you know Ken refuses to let me pay for much anyway,” I remind her for the tenth time since she moved in with me.

Tessa fusses with her hair and looks over at me. The smile on her face indicates she’s about to tell me to shut up. “I won’t go over this with you again,” she says, shaking her head.

I decide to save my energy for the weekend and let her have her way. “Text me when you’re off, then?” I grab Tessa’s keys from the hook and drop them into her palm.

“I’m fine,” she says.

We both study her shaking hands.

•  •  •

When she leaves, I jump in the shower and shave my face. Sometimes I want to grow my beard out, but once I do, invariably I shave it off. I can’t make up my mind. If I let my beard take over my face, maybe I’ll be invited into the hipster secret circle in Greenpoint. Then again, am I ready for that type of commitment? Hardly.

I wrap a towel around my waist and brush my teeth. I don’t know if I like being an adult so far. Why does New York have to be so far from Washington? I should call my mom today . . .

A knock at the door echoes through the apartment.

Hardin; it must be Hardin. Why do I feel so anxious about his arrival?

I pull the door open, wishing I had put some clothes on, because he’s going to talk crap to me the moment he sees me in my towel.

My eyes meet Dakota’s, and I step back more out of surprise than to let her inside. She’s the last person I expected to see; I’m not sure I’m really ready to see her.

“What’s going on? Why are you here?” Our last meeting wasn’t exactly pleasant, and since then Nora showed up at my apartment with a box of her belongings.

Dakota looks at me, through me almost, her eyes deep wells of black. “It’s . . .” she croaks. Her bottom lip shakes with anxiety. “My dad. He’s . . . he’s going to die.” She covers her mouth as the words come out.

A little cry escapes her lips. “It’s worse now that I’ve said it. He’s dying, Landon; my dad—he’s going to die. I’m not even there, and he’s going to be dead soon. I—”

Instinctively, I reach for her and pull her into my chest. Her cheeks are wet against my skin, and her body is shaking as sobs take over her.

I don’t know which thought of mine is worse: that I’m not sad about him, or that Dakota feels like a stranger in my arms. “What happened?”

Her hands move up my bare back, and I rub my hand over her curly hair.

“His liver—it’s failing. They said he has alcohol hepatitis; I don’t know what that means, exactly, but his liver is full of scars. I knew the bottle would kill us off one by one. Carter, my dad . . . I’m sure I’m next.”

I hug her tighter to try to halt her dark thoughts. “Tell me everything they said.”

I guide her to the couch while I close the door and then join her. She’s still shaking when we sit, and she molds her body to mine, holding on to me as if she’ll lose ground if she lets go.