I was sure I would wake up, and it would all have been a dream. That was the only way I could survive what was happening inside me. It was a dream, and I would wake up feeling silly forever thinking it was real. Then, I would drive down to Roaring Forks and beat the holy hell out of Craig just because.

But the mug was hot in my hands, almost hot enough to burn my skin. I felt the weight of the coat hanging on my thin frame. The chair was hard under my butt, the floor a little squeaky under my feet. When I pressed down with my right foot, I heard a slight noise. No, it was no dream. I was very much in a waking nightmare.

And he was there. Because things needed to get worse.

“What are you doing here?” I had to know. All the years that had passed with absolutely no word from him. I wasn’t sure if he was still alive, and had made "I don’t care" my mantra in the aftermath of the heartbreak he’d caused. My first heartbreak, but not the last. Not by far.

“We were friends. Remember?”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know you still were.” It didn’t make sense. Never once had Craig mentioned him—granted, that could’ve been because he knew I didn’t want to think about him ever again, but we were adults. I wouldn’t have screamed or torn my hair out if I’d heard Dawson’s name. Maybe. So I told myself.

“We lived in the same town,” he murmured with a shrug. “It’s hard not to keep a connection when you run into each other several times a week. Besides, in the last month or so…” he trailed off, his eyes shifting toward the doorway, down the hall to the living room.

The truth hit me like a bomb. “So he told you about his illness,” I concluded. I felt absolutely hollow inside, like the last little twist of the knife had emptied me out. “He told you and not me.”

“I don’t understand.” Uninvited, he took a seat at the other end of the kitchen table. It was a tiny table, only wide enough to accommodate three people—one at either end and one in the middle, with the other long end pushed against the wall, so the table sat snugly beneath the windowsill. We were a foot, maybe two, away from each other. Closer than we’d been in two decades. He scrubbed a hand over his face, a face that was the same and vastly different all at once. “I didn’t know you two kept in touch.”

“And vice-versa,” I replied. “But yes, we did. We talked on the phone a few times a week; we emailed, we texted constantly.” I pulled my phone from my pocket with a shaky hand and scrolled through text after text, sometimes dozens in a single day. Tears stung my eyes all over again as I skimmed his words. He always made me laugh. Always.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Dawson asked.

I was still looking down at my phone when I replied, running my fingers over Craig’s messages. “Back in August, for my birthday. He came up to visit me.”

“He visited you?”

“At least twice a year, maybe three times if he could get away.” I looked up across the table to find Dawson’s face had taken on a kind of understanding.

He chuckled drily. “So that’s where he would go,” he grinned, shaking his head. “He never mentioned where he was going when he’d leave town for a week.”

“It was to see me,” I confirmed. “He knew it was hard for me to come back here.” My words hung between us, filling the space between our bodies with dark, painful memories. As if on cue, clouds drifted across the sun, and the light through the window turned gray.

“I see.” He stood, and his height was more obvious than ever. Not to mention the broadness of his body. Muscles strained beneath a dark t-shirt, while his waist tapered into a pair of jeans he filled out nicely. He’d gotten into shape, clearly, and I couldn’t help noticing in a detached way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anything about you guys being so close. I would’ve…”

“I know,” I said, cutting him off. And he would have, too. At least, the boy I once knew would have gotten in touch with me. I was sure of that much. Time didn’t change a person’s nature, and his nature made it so he had to take care of people. No, that wouldn’t have changed.

“Did you have a fight?” My head snapped up, and something in my expression made him take a step away from the table.

“No. Even if we had, I think this would be too important to let a fight get in the way.”

“Sorry. It was a stupid question.” He slid his hands into his pockets, the very image of a man who had no idea what to do with himself. His fine chiseled features hardened into a mask of frustration and confusion. His gray eyes, startlingly light as always, jumped from his tanned face. What did he do for a living that gave him that body, that tan? There was just a faint touch of silver in his dark brown, almost black, hair. He wore it cropped close. It only made him more handsome. My chest ached a little at the thought, and it wasn’t an ache for Craig.

“Look. You don’t have to help me figure this out. It’s nice of you to try to help me, but this is my problem. I’m just going to have to live with it.” I did what I could to sound matter-of-fact, but my voice cracked in the end. When it did, everything came bubbling back up inside me. All the hurt and pain. What would I do without Craig? Nothing would ever be as fun or funny or rich or meaningful without him. Even if we only saw each other a few times a year at most, he was a daily presence. Or he had been, and I’d been too busy, too wrapped up in my mess of a life, to notice how he’d faded out.

I looked at my phone again, unwilling to meet Dawson’s eyes and let him see me cry. Sure enough, the messages from Craig had dwindled away to almost nothing. In fact, I’d gotten nothing from him in almost a week. A pang hit my heart. I should’ve known. I should’ve asked. But no. I’d deserted him.

“It’s not your fault,” I heard Dawson murmur from across the room.

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know that he didn’t want people to know,” he said. “Do you want to hear about it, or do you want to keep blaming yourself?”

I sighed, my shoulders dropping a little. “What is it you have to tell me?”

He took a deep breath before speaking. “I only knew because I came here to find out what was wrong. He hadn’t been around the diner in a while and nobody knew what was happening with him, so I came looking for him, and there was no use in lying. He was sick—very sick. That was only three weeks ago.”

“Jesus,” I whispered. “How long did he know?”

“A couple weeks. It was all so fast.”

“What kind of cancer?”

“Pancreatic. It was too late by the time the doctors found it. He decided against treatment.” I let out a whimper, squeezing my eyes shut as tears hit my hands. My poor, sweet Craig.

“Does anybody else know?” I asked in a clogged whisper, thick with emotion.

“I don’t think so—he had a partner at the practice, and maybe they know, but he made it a point to keep his illness from as many people as possible. You know him.”

“He hated attention.”

“That’s right,” Dawson agreed. “And in a small town…”

“It’s amazing he managed to keep it quiet,” I finished.

“Well, he was good at keeping things to himself.”

“Case in point,” I muttered. A hand was squeezing my heart, on and on, until I was sure it would explode. Why wouldn’t it just explode already and put me out of my misery? I had just lost everything. There was nothing left.

A noise came from the living room as the front door opened and closed. It was the coroner, I realized with a sick feeling. They were taking him away.

“You want to say goodbye one more time?” Dawson murmured. I only shook my head, scrolling through photos of Craig and me together. I didn’t want to see him like that anymore, all shrunken and shriveled. I wanted to see him smiling and healthy and alive.

“You can go in if you want to,” I offered.

“No, thanks. I’ve seen enough.” He leaned against the far wall, and I watched as his head dipped down until his eyes were on the floor. There was fatigue in every line, every muscle of his body.

“Thank you,” I suddenly said.

“For what?”

“For being here with him. I’m so glad he wasn’t alone.”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t not be. Besides, it’s not the first deathbed I ever sat at.”

His statement cut through the grief for just a second. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” he muttered. “My mom.”

Of course. She’d been sick even years earlier. “I’m sorry. That was an insensitive question.” I felt like we were locked in an awkward dance. He would take a step, then I would—and we would step on each other’s feet and apologize and start again.

He shrugged again. “Anyway, it was the least I could do for him. I didn’t want him to be alone any more than you did. And up until yesterday, he was still talking whenever he had the strength. We sort of caught up and got back to the way we used to be.” He let out a snort. “A little too late, but that’s how it sometimes goes, right?”

“I guess so.” How sad. It took death to bring people together. Well, clearly, since there was no other situation in the world that could’ve gotten Dawson Holmes and me back in the same room.

Once the body was gone, and the nurse came in to confirm she was leaving, and that the hospital bed and equipment would be moved out later in the day, Dawson looked at me. “Where will you go?” he asked.

I looked around me. “I guess I’ll stay here if you think that’s okay. Somebody has to get the place put together for sale.” There was so much to think about, and I didn’t even know if Craig had a Will. The least I could do for him would be to take care of things, but there wasn’t exactly a roadmap for where to start. Then, another thought—what about work? “It’ll only be a few days, maybe a week,” I amended. “Maybe I can hire somebody to come out and help with the odds and ends I can’t get to.”

He nodded, wordless. I could feel him judging me, and his judgment stung. “I do have to get back to work at some point,” I reminded him. “I don’t have limitless time, though I wish I did.”

“Nobody said you should.”

“I just feel like you think I should handle everything.”

“No, I think you think you should handle everything,” he replied. “I don’t have an opinion.”

How did he know just exactly how to make me want to slap the face off his head? Even then, when all I wanted was to hear Craig’s voice again and tell him I loved him, I wanted to punish Dawson just as much. Maybe a little more. I chalked it up to high emotion and told myself to shake him off.

“With that in mind,” he continued, sighing, “I have to get to work. I don’t have limitless time, either.” He gave me one last look before turning to go. “I’ll see you around.”

The closing of the front door was the loneliest sound I’d ever heard.