“Hey, you.”
“Barrett,” she says. I hear sheets and blankets being moved around. “Are you okay? It’s late.”
I press my fingertips to my forehead. “Did I wake you? Or Huxley? I’m sorry. Shit.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “You just scared me, that’s all.”
Blowing out a breath, I imagine what she looks like in bed with no makeup and some sleepy eyes. “I miss you.”
“Ah, Barrett. I miss you too.”
“How was your day? Did you get your paper done?”
“No,” she groans. “I have another few pages left. I had to work a few extra hours at Hillary’s and then Huxley’s homework was out of control. You should see the amount of stuff he has to do every night. It’s incredible.”
A vision of me sitting at a table with Hux going over science problems and history questions flashes through my brain. I can see it so clearly.
“Is he doing well though? Does he need a tutor or anything?” I volunteer.
“No. He’s as sharp as a tack. It’s just so much work that it cuts into the time I have for mine. It’s the life of a single mother,” she says easily. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“If you need any help with any of it—”
“We’re fine, Barrett.”
I hear the warning in her voice, to not step too close. I hate it. I hate having a barrier between us, being told to keep any sort of distance. I want to help her, take the loads off that I can remove without any problem.
“I know you’re fine, Alison. I’m just saying that I’m willing to help.”
“I know and it’s appreciated. But it’s important to me that I do this on my own.”
“Do what on your own? Life?” I gruff.
“No,” she sighs. “Not exactly.”
“You do realize I’m not trying to take anything from you right?” I ask. “I want to . . . add to it. Make it better, easier if I can.”
She doesn’t respond for a long while and I give her time to wrangle whatever it is she’s thinking. I wish I were there with her, wrapping her up in my arms. It would make so many things so much better.
“I don’t mean to push . . .” I say, letting my words fall.
“You aren’t pushing, Barrett. I love that you care.”
“Of course I care,” I snort.
“I just don’t need a knight in shining armor. In my world,” she says, pausing, “I am the knight. I’m the one that saves the day.”
“I can respect that. Just let me be the stallion you ride in on.”
She laughs, a free, flowy kind of laugh that makes me join in. “Barrett Landry, you’re impossible.”
Relaxing back on my pillows, I close my eyes and listen to the sound of her voice. It’s what I needed, my antidote.
“I do need to get back to bed,” she yawns. “I have the breakfast shift in the morning, so my mom will be here super early to get Hux up and to her house to get ready for school.”
“Okay. But I wish I were there with you.”
“I do too,” she whispers.