The Expansion of the Universe

Twenty-Three | "Squid tentacles."

She was waiting. Always, always waiting.

Only this time, she was as terrified of everything as she had been directly after the accident, when every person, object, or noise had her muscles locking up with fear and her mind screaming, Is that Mitchell? Is he here to finish the job?! Run, run, run, run!

Except every noise wasn't Mitchell, now. No, now it was Carson, a real man who wasn't dead and could easily hurt her if he really wanted to.

And, if she recalled their last interaction correctly, that was exactly what he'd wanted to do.

Milo let out a quiet yawn beside her, and she patted his head apologetically, knowing it was her fault. The poor dog was so attentive to her needs that he always woke shortly after she did, his nose against her cheek and one of his own blankets in his mouth as he tried to calm her down and warm her up.

But she couldn't sleep well, regardless of what she or her dog tried. A single creak of unexpected noise within the condo had her sitting upright in bed, her eyes trained on the bedroom door and her heart galloping in her chest. It was always difficult to go back to sleep after that, and the bags under her eyes were only getting worse as the days wore on.

She just really, really wanted Elijah.

She hadn't called him again, but she had sent him a text. It had been simple, just Be safe, Elijah, and it didn't nearly encompass the many things she wanted to tell him—Please don't leave me when I tell you the truth; don't climb too high in your plane; do you miss me like I miss you; what have you done to me?—but he seemed to understand that, as much as she wanted to, her stupid brain wouldn't allow her to call again or send further texts.

In response to what she couldn't say, Elijah had sent her texts every day. Sometimes they were silly things, like Why do seagulls have such big chests? Are they trying to prove something? Other times, they were serious and had her heart slam-skip-slamming all over the damn place. Such was the one she'd received the previous night before he'd taken off on the return flight, her phone displaying the words, I miss your pretty smile, doll.

As though he could tell he'd sent her into a fluttering frenzy of emotion, he'd followed it with another, more ridiculous message: PSA that Austin farts like a cow lost in a bean field.

Her response to both messages, though she would never send it, was three words: I miss you.

The only consolation, she supposed, was that they'd finally reached the end of their nine-day separation, and Elijah should be returning at any moment. It was getting later in the evening though, judging by the way the sun was slowly sinking behind the trees, and Liza was beginning to fear that something had happened to him.

Wasn't he supposed to be back before dark? God, what if something had happened to his plane? What if the engine had stalled, just like it had when Mitchell had been piloting?

No. She dismissed the thought quickly. She knew that Elijah wasn't a bad pilot, and he'd had nothing but good things to say about Austin's own flying abilities. So, surely they were fine.

Right? Right. He had to be fine—anything else was unacceptable and made her skin crawl with unease and horror.

As if on cue, she saw headlights flash in the dusk light from her spot by the window, before a familiar sedan began to sail down the street. She grinned, her fingers curling with anticipation, forcing herself to shift Milo and stand when she saw the car pull into Elijah's driveway.

She didn't know when he climbed out of the vehicle, as she was quick to abandon the couch and hover by the door instead, her hand poised over the knob carefully. God, she was practically vibrating with excitement, even as nerve began to build in her stomach.