FORTY-THREE
It was almost eleven. The room, mostly dark, offered just a slight, soft glow from the back-light behind the headboard with slightly more light spilling in from the hallway. The corners were dark and shadows danced.
James felt exhausted but couldn’t sleep. His stomach seemed raw. The only thing keeping him from throwing up a handful of times was because he didn’t want to frighten Charlie. After Monty left she had become increasingly quieter. He knew she was scared, or more accurately, petrified. He wanted to be a pillar for her. If she watched him throw up every time his stomach rolled, she wouldn’t lean on him.
He whispered into the darkness. “I never wanted to fall in love with you, Charlie. But somehow, you got me. You stole my heart. I didn’t think it could happen again.
