sleep, he would be more inclined to lose his balance. Without his crutch the walking stick filled the void perfectly.
Chapter Ten
HAVING TAKEN the tea back into his bedroom, Pip had relocated to the chair in the corner to read while he ate his cookie and finished his drink. By the time his bladder demanded attention, he was surprised to realize how far the evening had progressed while he’d been engrossed in his book.
He’d intended to try Colby’s phone one more time before retiring to bed, but it was after ten.
He decided, rather petulantly, that it would be Colby’s own fault if Pip woke him since he had been the one to avoid confrontation and communication by turning his phone off.
Pip redialed the last number called, absently typing Colby’s name and adding it to his contacts while he waited for a recorded message to confirm Colby remained incommunicado. The first ring was shrill and completely unexpected, causing Pip to fumble the phone. Once, twice, three times, the phone trilled, and the likelihood that Colby would either answer or Pip was about to wake him from slumber increased with every ring.
He stabbed at the Disconnect Call button, breathing heavily as silence fell in the room once again.
A yawn grabbed at him, interrupting the stuttering breaths that had accompanied his unexplainable panic when he realized that Colby could have answered the phone. He should lock the house up and head to bed himself. Not that he normally went to bed before midnight, but today he felt inexplicably tired, despite his nap.
He reached for the stick nestled against his thigh and pushed himself to his feet. As he tackled the stairs with an ease that the cumbersome crutch hadn’t allowed him, Pip let his mind wander. Each time, though, he kept coming back to the cowardly way he had disconnected the call. Before he had a chance to hear Colby’s voice. Before he could discern the disappointment there. Before he could change his mind about accepting Colby’s gift.
As he checked the locks on the front door, the muffled tune of his ringtone floated down from the bedroom. It was too late for it to be his mother—and under no illusion he might be out, she’d ring the landline—so it could only be one other person.
Part of him wanted to take the stairs two at time, at a run, to catch the phone before Colby could ring off. The realist in him knew such an endeavor wouldn’t be possible. The coward in him didn’t even try. He would put off talking to Colby until tomorrow.
Two steps up and the house fell silent again. There! Even running he wouldn’t have made it. Justified in his decision, he tucked his cowardice away for another day and caressed the handle of the walking stick with his thumb as he slowly navigated the stairs.
It wasn’t until he’d shucked his joggers, swapped his T-shirt for one that he only slept in—due to the faded but huge Duck Dodgers on the front—and finished his ablutions that he noticed the flashing light on his phone.
A message. Pip chewed on his bottom lip. Did he want to listen to it? Undoubtedly he wanted to hear Colby’s voice, but did Pip want to listen to what he had to say? Especially if he’d woken Colby up. Although, his voice would be all soft and dozy sounding, or maybe rough and even more manly than normal.
Putting off the decision for a while longer, Pip contemplated what to do with the walking stick for the night. The crutch normally got dropped unceremoniously on the rug by the bed, in easy reach if he woke in the night but with no thought or care for how it landed. The walking stick, however, could not be subjected to such blasé treatment. What if he stepped on it in the night? Broke it in two. Marred the charming handle. Colby had to be able to return the stick when Pip took it back to him tomorrow, or, at the very least, sell it on.
He cleared all the items off his nightstand, transferring them to the matching piece of furniture on the other side of the bed.
Chapter Ten
HAVING TAKEN the tea back into his bedroom, Pip had relocated to the chair in the corner to read while he ate his cookie and finished his drink. By the time his bladder demanded attention, he was surprised to realize how far the evening had progressed while he’d been engrossed in his book.
He’d intended to try Colby’s phone one more time before retiring to bed, but it was after ten.
He decided, rather petulantly, that it would be Colby’s own fault if Pip woke him since he had been the one to avoid confrontation and communication by turning his phone off.
Pip redialed the last number called, absently typing Colby’s name and adding it to his contacts while he waited for a recorded message to confirm Colby remained incommunicado. The first ring was shrill and completely unexpected, causing Pip to fumble the phone. Once, twice, three times, the phone trilled, and the likelihood that Colby would either answer or Pip was about to wake him from slumber increased with every ring.
He stabbed at the Disconnect Call button, breathing heavily as silence fell in the room once again.
A yawn grabbed at him, interrupting the stuttering breaths that had accompanied his unexplainable panic when he realized that Colby could have answered the phone. He should lock the house up and head to bed himself. Not that he normally went to bed before midnight, but today he felt inexplicably tired, despite his nap.
He reached for the stick nestled against his thigh and pushed himself to his feet. As he tackled the stairs with an ease that the cumbersome crutch hadn’t allowed him, Pip let his mind wander. Each time, though, he kept coming back to the cowardly way he had disconnected the call. Before he had a chance to hear Colby’s voice. Before he could discern the disappointment there. Before he could change his mind about accepting Colby’s gift.
As he checked the locks on the front door, the muffled tune of his ringtone floated down from the bedroom. It was too late for it to be his mother—and under no illusion he might be out, she’d ring the landline—so it could only be one other person.
Part of him wanted to take the stairs two at time, at a run, to catch the phone before Colby could ring off. The realist in him knew such an endeavor wouldn’t be possible. The coward in him didn’t even try. He would put off talking to Colby until tomorrow.
Two steps up and the house fell silent again. There! Even running he wouldn’t have made it. Justified in his decision, he tucked his cowardice away for another day and caressed the handle of the walking stick with his thumb as he slowly navigated the stairs.
It wasn’t until he’d shucked his joggers, swapped his T-shirt for one that he only slept in—due to the faded but huge Duck Dodgers on the front—and finished his ablutions that he noticed the flashing light on his phone.
A message. Pip chewed on his bottom lip. Did he want to listen to it? Undoubtedly he wanted to hear Colby’s voice, but did Pip want to listen to what he had to say? Especially if he’d woken Colby up. Although, his voice would be all soft and dozy sounding, or maybe rough and even more manly than normal.
Putting off the decision for a while longer, Pip contemplated what to do with the walking stick for the night. The crutch normally got dropped unceremoniously on the rug by the bed, in easy reach if he woke in the night but with no thought or care for how it landed. The walking stick, however, could not be subjected to such blasé treatment. What if he stepped on it in the night? Broke it in two. Marred the charming handle. Colby had to be able to return the stick when Pip took it back to him tomorrow, or, at the very least, sell it on.
He cleared all the items off his nightstand, transferring them to the matching piece of furniture on the other side of the bed.
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