Sheila's POV
The next morning comes too soon.
The light sneaks through the curtains, thin and sharp, touching the edge of my pillow. My phone buzzes once, then again. I already know who it is. I can feel it before I even reach for it.
Brendan.
I stare at his name glowing on the screen. My thumb hovers there, stupidly waiting, like I’m afraid touching it might make him real again. My body still remembers him the weight of his stare, the way his voice dragged over my skin last night. It’s all still there, lingering, raw, impossible to ignore.
I pick up.
“You didn’t sleep,” he says. His voice is low, calm, like he’s been awake thinking about me too.
“I tried.”
A pause. Then his breath, steady through the phone. “You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m not.”
Silence stretches between us, thick a
