Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“I’m still me,” I say. “That’s all I know how to be.”
Her laugh is small, bitter. I have no idea what it means.
She rises from the couch, wrapping the blanket tighter, and for a second I think she’s going to leave. Maybe go to the bedroom, grab her bag, and storm out into the dreary day. But she stops at the edge of the rug and turns back to me, her shoulders rigid.
“I don’t even know what to do with this,” she says, almost to herself.
My throat tightens. “Stay,” I say, the word scraped bare. “Please.”
She doesn’t turn. The blanket slips a little, showing the curve of her shoulder. Her hair falls like a curtain, hiding her face.
When she finally speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know if I can.”
And that’s where it lands.
The storm outside has passed, but in here, it’s still rolling, still building.
Twenty-Five
Tabitha
The cabin smells like sex.
Not surprising, of course.
Above the scent of rain, the fragrance of the burning wood…
All I smell is the musky aroma of sex.
What if Henry didn’t want me here at all?
His confession—the cabin was Angie’s idea—sits like a stone in my stomach. I already knew, but the fact that he mentioned it again…
He didn’t plan this. He didn’t invite me. I’m a guest at a retreat I didn’t know I was attending, thrown into the arms of a man I can’t stop wanting but can’t quite trust.
I head to my room. My hands shake as I pull on my sweats and a hoodie, the blanket dropping to the floor. The air inside the cabin feels too close, like it’s pressing against my ribs.
I need air.
Again.
My shoes are somewhere in the great room, but I grab my flip-flops and slip them on. I sneak out the back way. Henry’s still on the couch, and he doesn’t notice.
Or if he does, he pretends he doesn’t.
Outside, the rain is still pattering. The ground is spongy under my feet.
I sit on a patio chair, just looking. Taking in the beauty before me. I’m getting wet, of course, but I don’t care. The rain feels good. Like it’s washing something away from me.
The mist is thicker by the stream, curling off the water in ribbons. I rise, walk toward the water, and crouch to splash some on my face. It’s cold, a jolt that almost helps. I stay there for a minute, breathing, until my pulse steadies.
I return to the deck and sit.
I’m not sure how long I’m there.
I don’t think.
I simply am.
And being is enough. For now.
When Henry invades my thoughts, I push him out. Ditto for the attack. For the seminar. For anything else.
I need quiet for my mind.
I haven’t had that for what seems like an eternity.
I honestly don’t know how much time passes before I get up and go back inside. I’m not quite settled, but the thoughts firing through my brain have dulled a bit.
Inside, the cabin is quiet. Too quiet. The fire has been rebuilt and burns low, but Henry isn’t on the couch or by the hearth. My heart kicks hard as I step farther in, half expecting him to appear from nowhere.
He’s at a small table by the window, his laptop open. A mug sits beside him, steam rising. His hair is still damp from a shower, and it curls at his temples. He’s wearing a henley and dark jeans, sleeves pushed up, forearms taut as he types. He looks steady. Controlled.
The sight of him like that—composed, already at work while I’m coming apart—makes me want to scream.
Except… Is he really controlled? Focused?
Or is he just pretending?
I hang back a few steps. “You’re working,” I say, and it comes out more like an accusation than a statement.
He glances up. “Trying to.” He shuts the laptop a little too quickly. “You went for a walk.”
“Yeah.” I hesitate. “I mean, no. I just went outside. The farthest I went was to the little stream in the back.”
He wrinkles his forehead. “You okay?”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “Am I okay?”
He leans back in the chair, studying me. “That’s not an answer.”
My hands clench at my sides. “Why did you even want me?”
The words tumble out before I can stop them. They hang in the air between us, heavier than the smell of coffee and wet pine. His jaw tightens.
I can’t blame him. He’s already told me why he wanted me at the hospital. That I can’t get past my own head isn’t his problem.
“Because,” he says quietly, “you were the first thing I thought of when I came to. After the accident.”
The same thing he’s already said.
But this time, it drills deeper into my skull, and it hits me with the force of a thousand gusts of wind.
He’s no longer the problem.
I am.
And it’s not the seminar, or my career, or the fact that I’m in love with Henry.