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)
The stupidest heat rushes my face. I step closer to the fire. “I couldn’t come.”
“I know.” He says it without accusation, which somehow makes it worse.
I lower to a crouch and sit on the hearth just out of his reach. The stone is warm through the fabric of my sweats.
“Ask me again,” I say.
He blinks. “What?”
“Ask me again why I didn’t come.”
He studies me. “Why didn’t you come?”
“Because you told me we had no future,” I say, repeating my earlier answer, but then adding, “And because I believed you.”
He absorbs it. Resignation crosses his face.
“I said it because I thought it was true,” he says. “Because I was a mess, and I didn’t want to drag you through it. Because I thought if I let myself want you out loud, it would eat everything.”
“And?” I keep my voice steady. “Did it eat everything?”
His mouth quirks. It’s not a smile. “It’s working on it.”
A laugh tries to climb out of me, but I suppress it. I fidget with my hands, making suturing moves.
The storm drops an octave. The roof thrums. Firelight skates over Henry’s profile, and for a split second, I see the boy he was, the one I’ve seen in Angie’s old photos, with sun-bleached blond hair, eyes blue and sparkling and mischievous.
“Why are we doing this?” I ask.
“This?” He gestures between us.
“Yeah. This.” I mimic the gesture. “We could pretend we’re just two people who got stuck in a storm.”
“We could.” He pauses a moment. “It would be a lie.”
I swallow. The room angles a degree.
“Tea?” he asks. “I can heat some more water.”
“It’s fine.” I don’t know what I mean. The tea. Me. Us.
He pushes to his feet anyway. A few minutes later, the kettle hums. He brings me a mug. I take it, and this time our hands don’t brush.
We sit again, not touching. I sip. He doesn’t. He watches me sip. Must be fascinating.
“Tell me something true,” he finally says.
“About what?”
“About you. About who you are.”
I think. What does he really want to know? What do I really want to tell him?
Nothing…and everything.
Finally, I settle on, “I tied twenty surgeon’s knots in a row this morning, and my hands remembered the song.”
“Song?”
“Yeah. I know it sounds silly, but it’s like a song you’ve known forever and you’ll never forget it. Even if you haven’t heard it in ages, it can come on and you remember every single word. Except that it’s muscle memory.”
He nods. Says nothing.
“But yesterday in lab I couldn’t do a single simple square without fumbling.” I stare into the fire. “I felt like a fraud.”
“You’re not.” He leans forward, forearms on thighs, hands hanging loose between his knees. “Sometimes the brain calls bullshit on the body. I should know.”
“You tell yourself that a lot?” I ask.
“Often.” His mouth turns. “More lately.”
We’re quiet. The tea cools. I put the mug down, scrub my palms on my thighs.
“Tell me something true,” I say.
He doesn’t hesitate. “I nearly called you every night this week.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because if I heard your voice…” He shakes his head. “If I heard you say, in your voice, that you weren’t coming, that you didn’t…” He sighs. “I didn’t want to be that man.”
Another gust hits the cabin. Somewhere a shutter slaps. Zach snorts in his sleep and rolls over, his back to the hearth.
I should go to bed. The sensible part of me, the one that makes lists and checks boxes and keeps scalpel blades counted, shoves from the inside. Get up. Walk away. Close the door. Sleep.
I don’t stand.
He doesn’t move either. The space between us is crowded with a bunch of stuff we haven’t said.
“Tabitha,” he says. “If I ask you something, will you answer?”
“Depends.”
He clears his throat. “Who texted you? You know, before.”
He noticed that?
Of course he did. He probably notices everything about me. I sure notice everything about him.
Heat flashes my face. “No one important.”
He shakes his head, forcing out a chuckle. “So that’s what you meant when you said ‘depends.’”
“I suppose so.” I cross my arms. “I’m not lying. It wasn’t anyone important.”
He smirks. “Then why won’t you tell me?”
God.
Do I have to go into detail here? About the day I drove back to Boulder from Steel Acres? And I stupidly went on a walk alone at night?
And was nearly…
“Fine.” I huff. “It was a man. His name is Lance Rodriguez.”
Henry’s jaw tightens. “Is he a student in the seminar?”
I lift my eyebrows. Interesting that he went right to the seminar. He’s trying to make it make sense. How simple it would be to go with his assumption.
Yeah, Lance is a student in the seminar. We’re lab partners and we were supposed to work together this weekend, but I texted him earlier that I decided to go out of town. He was just acknowledging and saying he’ll see me Monday in class.