Page 74 of Came the Closest

“Okay.” I hold my hand out. “I will commit to Cheyenne.”

Indi hides her surprise well, but I don’t miss the slight lift in her brow as she takes my hand. She shakes it firmly and then turns back to the rest of the table. “All right. Don’t let me lose. Gran and I on the dance floor together would make the rest of you look like terrible dancers.”

Not only will I be Gran’s dance partner at her beck and call tomorrow night, but I also have to figure out what committing to Cheyenne looks like. I wish it were the former that has me staring at my bedroom ceiling several hours later.

It’s not.

It is, undoubtedly, the latter.

Most people would think of engagement or marriage when they hear the word. Which is fair—that would be my first thought, too. But Hazel’s words from Tuesday play on a loop in my head, keeping me from the sleep I desperately need.

Love is choosing one person, and choosing them over, and over, and over.

It’s deciding that you’re more scared of living without them than you are of making mistakes.

That is the truth—I’m more scared of losing Cheyenne than I am of messing up. Maybe because I’ve already lost her once, or maybe just because it’s taken me thirty years to get to this point. To understand that, somewhere deep inside me, there’s a box named Running Scared. But instead of trying to get rid of it, maybe I need to relabel it.

Trying Scared.

Unfortunately, this makes me think of everything I could get her. Beyond flowers or paints or donuts. Buying whatever she wants from a boutique, taking her to the nicest restaurant in Omaha, flying us to New York City so she can see The Met in person like she’s always talked about.

Like she used to talk about.

The thought sobers me up cold. I don’t know Cheyenne like I once knew her. I know she still cleans when she’s stressed or anxious. I know she still eats Honey Nut Cheerios out of a different mug every morning. I know she still gets annoyed when glasses leave perspiration rings on tabletops.

But I don’t know if she still wants to see The Met. If she still physically frowns when she’s struggling to put her vision on a canvas. If she’s learned how to curl ribbons on presents.

I need to know those things, and hundreds of thousands of others, about her. I need to know the new things about her, to learn who she’s become in the last five years. What her fears are and what her dreams are.

But before I can do something ridiculous like write out Get to Know Me questions, a noise startles through the sleeping house. I lay still, and when it comes again, my stomach roils.

Milo’s nightmares.

I untangle the covers and stumble into a pair of shorts in the semi darkness of a flickering night light. If Indi and Cheyenne were half as tired as they looked before I left for Graham’s, I wouldn’t blame them for not stirring. It’s selfish that I want them to, but I do, because I don’t have any idea how to handle this.

Aren’t you supposed to not wake them?

No. That’s for sleepwalking.

Right?

Helplessness knots in my stomach as I approach Milo’s bed. Something in my chest breaks at the sight of his tiny body thrashing around. He’s kicked the anchor printed comforter mostly off the bed, and his pajama shirt is twisted up around his chest.

“No!” he exclaims, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Don’t take her!”

Mom.

Don’t take Mom.

Heart racing, I drop to my knees beside the bed. I set a hand on his shoulder; it should be steady, but it trembles from my wrist down. “Milo,” I say, fighting to keep an even voice. “Milo. Buddy, hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

His fist narrowly avoids my jaw and I rear back. But, slowly, his body begins to still. I brush his blond curls away from his clammy forehead, and I run my thumb across his splotchy cheek when a tear leaks from his lashes.

“Shh,” I soothe. I gently pull his shirt back down, and I try for a smile when his eyes crack open. “Hey there, Captain.”

“They were gonna take her,” he whimpers. His lips quiver as his teary gaze meets mine, expression still haunted by the grasp of the nightmare.

“Who were they going to take?” I ask, even though I know the answer.