Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Here? Where would I sleep? That?” She points to my narrow cot.
“I’ll find somewhere else.”
She studies me for a long moment, then shakes her head. “No. I’ll be fine. The house isn’t far.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“Not necessary.”
“Wasn’t asking.”
She sighs but doesn’t argue further. Smart. The herbs are definitely kicking in now. Her eyelids are getting heavy, her movements slower.
“Finish that first.” I nod at the mug. “Then we’ll go.”
She drains the rest of the liquid, grimacing. “There. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
I take the empty mug, rinse it in the sink, trying to give the herbs more time to work. When I turn back, she’s swaying slightly on her feet.
“Whoa,” she says, reaching for the workbench to steady herself. “That’s... strong.”
“Told you.” I move closer, ready to catch her if needed.
She leans against the workbench, her fingers curled around the edge. In the yellow lamp light, her skin looks almost normal, flushed with warmth instead of its usual pallor. The sleeves of my flannel shirt have fallen down again, covering her hands, making her seem younger, vulnerable.
“Thanks,” she says softly. “For the tea. And not treating me like I’m made of glass.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Most people do that when they find out I’m sick. Walk on eggshells. Or talk about me behind my back. I know everyone at my party knew about me and why I came back to Heathens Hollow already. Or think they know about me. It gets old.” She sighs. “I even heard someone say they were told I had cancer. And someone else said I had less than a month to live. And if it’s not pity, then it’s people saying I’m faking it to get attention. Some doctors have said as much. It’s all in my head.” She pauses, glances down at her feet. “The rumors… I guess it’s better than the truth. That the doctors don’t have a fucking clue what I have. Everyone has a different opinion. Chronic. That’s what I call it. Chronically fucked up.”
Something twists in my gut at the implication that she’s been dealing with this for a long time. That this broken girl in my greenhouse isn’t only about what happened with Liam.
“People can be idiots about illness,” I say. “They don’t know what to say, so they treat you differently.”
“Exactly.” She nods, then yawns. “You don’t, though.”
“No point. You’ve already proven you’re tougher than you look.”
She nods like this makes perfect sense. The herbs are really hitting her system now—her eyes are half-closed, her body swaying.
“I should really sit down,” she murmurs.
“Here.” I guide her to my cot. “Just for a minute.”
She sits heavily, then lets herself fall sideways until she’s lying down. “Just for a minute,” she echoes, her words drowsy.
She won’t be getting back up tonight. The mixture I made is powerful. Even in someone without her health issues, it would induce heavy sleep within minutes. For her, with her compromised system, it’s working even faster.
“The house...” she murmurs, fighting to keep her eyes open.
“It’s fine,” I say. “No one’s there to miss you.”
“Mmm.”
Her eyes close fully, her breathing deepening. She’s still wearing my flannel shirt, curled on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek. She looks younger asleep, the worry lines around her mouth softening.
I grab a blanket from the foot of my cot and drape it over her. She doesn’t stir.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Another text from Flint.
SEARCH PARTY HEADING TOWARD WATERS PROPERTY. WARN BRIAR.
Too late for that. I glance at her sleeping form, then type back:
SHE’S WITH ME. ASLEEP. SAFE.
The reply comes instantly:
THE GREENHOUSE?
YES.
STAY THERE. I’LL COME WHEN SHIFT ENDS.
I frown at the screen. It’s not his call to make.
NOT NECESSARY.
WASN’T ASKING.
I almost smile at the echo of my earlier words to Briar. Typical Flint, using my own lines against me.
I put away my phone and look around the greenhouse. If search parties are coming this way, I need to make sure everything looks normal. I grab my pruning shears and get back to the evening’s work, harvesting herbs for tomorrow’s tinctures. Lavender stems fall under my blade, filling the air with their calming scent.
Behind me, Briar sleeps deeply on my cot, occasionally making small sounds but never fully waking. I find myself listening for those sounds, tracking her presence even with my back turned.
Through the glass walls, I can see lights moving in the far distance—flashlights, probably. The search party making their way across the island. Soon they’ll reach the Waters property, combing through the grounds, looking for any sign of Liam. They won’t find anything. Not in the dark, not with the work I’ve done hiding the grave.
But they’ll be close. Too close.
I set down the shears, move to the cot, and watch Briar sleep. Her breathing is steady, her face relaxed in a way I’ve never seen it before. Some of her hair has fallen across her cheek. Without thinking, I reach out and brush it back behind her ear.