Page 7 of Should the Sky Fall

“You don’t get it,” Dawson pleads with her. “We had a deal. I need to be back by eight.”

“What deal?” she asks derisively, anger flashing in her eyes. “Are you fucking kidding?”

He cringes at the volume. “Liv…”

“You’re not a fucking slave. He can’t order you around.” Her eyes stormy, she looks around the room. “Where’s your phone?”

“Why?” A quick pat around his jeans reveals the phone’s still in his pocket.

Olivia zeros in on Dawson’s hands like a hawk. “I’m gonna have a talk with that fucker.” One second she’s standing there, fuming, and the next she’s battled off Dawson’s hands and extracted the phone from his own jeans.

“Olivia, no!” In his attempt to make a grab for the phone, he shoots to his feet, then instantly collapses back on the bed when the room spins. “For god’s sake, don’t,” he manages through a bout of nausea, swallowing several times in a row.

Olivia swears, glaring at the offending device in her hand. “It’s dead.”

Dawson could cry from relief. He never thought he’d be grateful to have forgotten to plug his phone in overnight. He stretches out his hand. “Give me the phone.”

She watches him suspiciously, pointing the phone at him. “You’re not leaving today. Are we clear? You’re in no state to drive.”

Swallowing down a protest, Dawson says, “I could order an Uber.” Except he can’t leave his car behind.

“All the way to GC? Don’t be ridiculous.”

At the moment, he couldn’t care less how ridiculous it is as long as it gets him home today. Anything is better than the alternative.

“Please.” When all he gets in return is an unwavering stare, he finally admits defeat. “Can I borrow a charger?” His throat clogs up with what he’s about to say next. “I need to let Cal know I won’t be back until tomorrow.”

She watches him mutely, then sighs and walks out. When she’s back, she hands Dawson the charger and jingles what he recognizes are his car keys at him. He must’ve left them in the car.

“I’m keeping these.” The tone of her voice brooks no argument. “You’ll get them in the morning if you don’t look like death warmed over.”

“Okay.”

After she leaves him be, Dawson relaxes for all of five seconds before it occurs to him what he needs to do next. Panic claws at his insides as he connects his phone to the charger and plugs it in, barely breathing while he waits for it to wake up. It doesn’t take long. The phone is almost brand new—a birthday present from Cal, even though Dawson preferred his old one.

The screen lights up, the reception being restored bar by bar.

Dawson goes to the texts and opens a new chat window. Cal only ever calls. He’s not going to be happy with a text—definitely not with its content—but Dawson isn’t brave enough to talk to him.

Typing out the message, he thanks the gods of autocorrect when he screws up every other letter.

Dawson:Got a migraine from hell. Can’t drive. Be back first thing in the morning. I’m sorry.

Thesendingstatus turns todelivered.Seconds later, it changes toread.

Dawson waits.

A quick glance at the time tells him he’s been staring at the screen waiting for ellipses to appear for eight minutes. Five more minutes pass, each of them feeling like an eternity.

Twenty minutes after he sent the text, Dawson breaks. He leaves the phone next to his pillow and pulls the blanket up to his chin. Whatever happens, it’s not going to be good.

Olivia and Ray’s bedroom is on the same floor, and Dawson has been listening for the sound of a door opening since four. When it finally does just before seven, and footsteps echo in the hall, he waits a couple of minutes before running downstairs, hoping it’s Olivia who’s up, and not Ray.

The odds must be in his favor for once. He finds Olivia standing in the kitchen in her SpongeBob pajamas, scooping ground coffee into a Moka pot.

She turns when she senses him there, but doesn’t seem surprised. “Shower first. Then you’ll eat.”

One look from her makes him swallow down the protest. What does it matter? He’s fucked anyway.