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You two were inseparable when you were younger.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Mom pauses for a moment. “Is everything alright? Maybe you need to come over here, and I’ll make you some dinner. You’ve had a really stressful time.”

I haven’t been over to see my parents in a week, and guilt racks through me. I barely see them during the season. “Tell you what, Mom, come over on Saturday, and I’ll show you the place and then take you for lunch. I’m guessing Dad’s working.”

“Ah, that sounds wonderful! Yes, he is. We can have Mom and Zachy time.”

Rolling my eyes at the pet name she’s used since I was in diapers, I check the time. It’s now half past eight. She’s not coming over, is she?

Panic races through me. “Mom, I gotta go.”

“Sure, sure, I get it. Bye, honey. See you Saturday!”

“Bye.”

I disconnect the call and immediately scroll to Luna’s contact which, at some point, I changed to “Rocket,” and a wry smile pulls at my lips; the name suits her perfectly.

The phone rings and rings, and with each second that passes, my heart drops lower in my ribcage until I’m connected with her voicemail, her cheery voice singing down the line.

I’ve fucked this completely, haven’t I?

Not giving it a second thought, I shove my feet into my sneakers and grab my keys from the side. I can’t remember exactly where she lives, but somehow, I still remember the street the taxi dropped her off on that New Year’s night. If she’s home, hopefully, her car will be in the driveway.

It doesn’t takeme long to identify her place; I see her bright-blue, beaten-up Toyota right away.

Pulling up along the sidewalk opposite her house, I realize this may come off as needy, or possibly obsessive, but I need to know she’s okay with me, with our friendship, with…us.

Her house is small with a cute front garden and a bright-pink picket fence. It’s on-brand for Luna. I can imagine her painting that in the summer, and a smile traces my lips once more. She seems to have that effect on me. Her porch and front door are painted in the same color, but when I step up the couple of steps and knock loudly, waiting for a good minute before knocking again, the smile I was wearing instantly vanishes as I realize something’s not right. I knock again, even harder this time, but there’s still no response and no sound of movement either. I try the door, but it’s locked.

Shit.

Stepping down from the porch, I round her house and walk down the driveway until I’m met with her locked side gate. I don’t think much of it, or who might be watching, when I take a couple of steps back and run at it, clearing it in a single leap. At least my upper body is strong, the hundred daily push-ups and resistance training I’ve been doing paying off. And there’s no twinge in my leg as I land either.

I’ve never been inside or in the back of Luna’s place. She bought it and moved in after she finished college, and I was already in Seattle, but I'm guessing there’s a way to get in around the back, since there is for most places. I fucking hope so anyway because every instinct is telling me I need to.

I’m relieved but still kind of worried when I try the sliding patio door, and it opens easily. Her house is unsecured; why didn’t she lock it? Did she just forget because she was upset when she left my place last night? Another wave of guilt rattles through me as I remember the look on her face as she turned and fled through the front door.

Her small living area is the first room I enter. It’s decorated in peach, yellow, and soft pink; there’s no doubt that I have the right house.

“Luna?” I call out into the open space.

No answer.

So I make for the stairs, assuming they must be through the living room because to the left is her small, white and pink kitchen.

“Luna!” I call again but more frantically as I take the stairs three at a time.

Finally, I hear a soft, almost pained, moan filter from one of the rooms, and fuck if it doesn’t break my heart when I try the first door and see her sprawled across her bed.

She’s wearing an old college T-shirt and tiny sleep shorts, but my eyes don’t linger on her flawless body for long when I see how pale she is. Her disheveled deep-auburn hair accentuates how sick she looks.

“Zach?” She tries to lift her head but fails after only making it a couple of inches, and it drops back down onto her pillow. “S-stay a-away from me. I think I have a stomach flu.” She retches forward and slams a hand over her dehydrated lips.

Finally, she moves it away. “You’re going to catch it, and for real, I’ve never been this sick. I f-feel like death.”

Like hell am I going to leave her in this state. Her room is in a real mess, like she’s been ill all night and not had a chance to clean up. Half-empty glasses and medication are strewn across her nightstand, and when I approach her and place the back of my hand along her forehead, she’s on fire. Her prominent freckles have faded, but the heat radiating from her body is enough to power a thousand blocks. I take one of her contrastingly cold and clammy hands in mine. “I can’t leave you, Rocket. Not like this. Tell me—what do you need?”