Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(67)

At first, I didn’t think much about the insomnia, maybe because I don’t typically have problems sleeping. Except after Devon died. For a while I had constant nightmares. I used to dream that I could see him lying in the snow, making snow angels—something he loved to do even at the age of twenty-one—and I’d watch this wall moving toward him. I’d be stuck in the chalet, unable to open the sliding glass door, screaming his name, but he couldn’t hear me. And that wall of frozen air would sweep over him. He’d stop making snow angels, his smile fixed in place, arms outstretched, eyes wide and unseeing.

Those dreams aren’t all that frequent anymore. But when they happen, it’s typically around the anniversary of Devon’s death, and occasionally after I’ve seen Lydia and Jamie. So at the beginning I didn’t pay much attention to Teagan’s sleeping habits.

But over time I start to notice things. Like the way she compulsively checks her purse for her medication.

Or how she always makes me an elaborate breakfast but often has a few bites and tells me she’s going to eat later and opts for coffee instead. And then there are the times that I wake up at five in the morning and she’s already up, working away on her laptop, one of those nasty energy drinks on the table beside her, perky to the point of being jittery. I assumed she was an early riser, but now I’m starting to wonder if that’s the case, or if she’s not going to bed at all. Pulling all-nighters.

I used to do it in college every once in a while, when I had a huge assignment due and I’d procrastinated until the last minute. But I’m worried that it’s more than that with Teagan. I sleep like the dead, so she could literally be up all night, and I’d never know.

To test that theory, I set my alarm for two in the morning and tuck my phone under my pillow the next time she stays over. I wake up with a start and stifle it quickly. I run my hand over Teagan’s side of the bed. It’s cold, and not because fall is closing in but because Teagan most definitely has not been in bed for a while.

I lie there for a minute, waiting to see if I’m wrong and she’s gone to the bathroom, or if she heard my alarm go off, but there’s no immediate sign she’s awake. Although if I listen closely enough, I catch the soft click of her keyboard. Which means she’s working. She’s been taking on more and more projects for the Stitches lately. And she’s taken on the fall farmers’ market in early November, which looks like it’s going to be twice as big as the one in August. Both of those things might be manageable on their own, but with her still working five days a week at five different jobs, I think she’s biting off more than she can chew. A lot more. And she’s trying to balance it all by cutting out sleep. Which is a dangerous and slippery slope.

I carefully slide out of bed, watching my step so I don’t hit any of the creaky floorboards. I find her in the living room on the couch, laptop in her lap, typing away.

“Babe, you should come to bed.”

She startles and looks up from her laptop. “Oh, hey, did I wake you?”

I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. “I had to go to the bathroom, and you weren’t all snuggled up beside me.”

“I remembered I had an email I needed to manage.”

“It’s two in the morning; that must have been one hell of an email.” I notice the can on the table, one of those freaking energy drinks she’s been guzzling like water lately.

“Is it really? I must have lost track of time.” She smiles, but her eyes dart away. “I’ll finish this up and come back to bed.”

“I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

“Okay.”

I shuffle down the hall, use the bathroom because I’m already up, so I might as well. Instead of going back to bed and waiting for her, like I’m sure she expects me to, I return to the living room and stand at the end of the couch.

“Just one more minute.”

“Those emails aren’t going anywhere. And no one expects you to answer them in the middle of the night. Come back to bed, please.”

“I’m in the middle of a thought, just a second,” she snaps.

Teagan never snaps. Apart from at the beginning, when I was being a donkey and hurt her feelings. I stand there for a few seconds, debating my options. I won’t have a problem going back to sleep, so I could literally stand here for an hour while she clacks away on her keyboard—and possibly fall asleep while remaining upright—but I’m thinking that’s not going to go over well.

So I do something I’m not proud of but will likely get the result I want, which is Teagan in bed beside me. Not burning the candle at both ends. I take a seat beside her on the couch.

“I swear, Aaron, I’ll be in bed in two minutes. You don’t need to monitor me.”

“I know. I just . . . I need you.”

That gets her to stop with the typing. She glances over at me. “Are you okay?”

“I had a dream about my brother.” It’s not entirely untrue. I did have a dream about my brother, but it wasn’t tonight. Occasionally I dream about him after I see Jamie or talk about Devon. But that was weeks ago.

“Oh, baby.” She closes her laptop and sets it on the coffee table, then shifts so she’s facing me. She runs her fingers through my hair. “Do you need to talk about it?”

I shake my head, feeling like an asshole for manipulating her. “I need you beside me so I know you’re safe.” I send an apology up to heaven, where I’m sure Devon is, looking down on me with judgment over using his death to coerce my girlfriend not to pull an all-nighter.