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)
“He’s a nice guy, obviously, and he helped you,” Henry says. “Why haven’t you gone for coffee with him?”
“Because I don’t want him.” The truth snaps out and sits there.
“Is he—”
“For God’s sake, Henry, he’s a great guy. He’s nice, good-looking, successful. A knight in shining armor rescuing a damsel in distress. A perfect match for me. And I don’t fucking want him.”
A smile edges onto his lips.
“You wanted honesty,” I say. “There it is. Bare bones. Warts and all. A perfect man fell into my lap, saved my life, and I don’t want him.”
Does he get the subtext? Henry’s a smart man. But also a bullheaded one.
We look at each other until my heart stumbles and a giant yawn splits my face.
“You’re falling asleep sitting up,” he says. “Why don’t you go on back to bed?”
“I’m not tired.” Lie. “And I don’t want—”
“You need a room with a door.” He looks down the hallway. “One you can lock. It’ll help.”
“With what?”
“With us not doing something stupid.”
“Like what?” My tone turns lighter than I feel.
He furrows his brow. “I think you know what.”
We stare again. We could do this all night.
Maybe I want to do something stupid. But maybe Henry isn’t ready. Maybe he’s not supposed to have sex. Doctor’s orders. Though if he can drive…
“Are you going to bed?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “Zach and I are going to sleep out here. On the couch.”
“With the fire…”
“Yeah. The storm really cooled the weather, and we need the fire for light, so…”
“I’ll stay too.”
He eyes the couch. “There isn’t room.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor.” What am I thinking?
I’m not sure, except that I don’t want to be alone in a strange house with no power and a storm still rattling the walls. I’m shaken up after telling the story of the attack. I really haven’t dealt with it. I’ve shoved it onto the back burner along with Henry so I can get through the seminar.
And I want…
I want…
“On the floor?” he says.
“On the floor.”
It’s a terrible idea. We both know it. He stands, disappears into a hall closet, comes back with two big blankets and a pillow. He spreads one blanket near the hearth and tosses the pillow to me.
He glances at the couch.
Then at the blanket near the hearth.
Then at me.
He says nothing, simply walks back to the hall closet and returns with another blanket and pillow. For him. For the couch.
Except he lays the pillow down on the blanket spread on the floor. “You take the couch,” he says.
“No.”
“I insist.”
“I insist.”
My sister, Sam, and I used to sleep by the hearth every Christmas Eve when we were little, hoping we could catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. We never did.
I could tell Henry this story. Say I like sleeping by the hearth. That I prefer it to the couch.
I don’t.
“I guess we’re at an impasse, then,” he says.
We lie down like children at a sleepover. Henry pulls the second blanket over us. The fire snaps. The storm rages.
He’s close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. Not touching. Not quite. If I turned my wrist two degrees, I could skim the back of his hand with my knuckles.
“Tabitha?” he says into the dark.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For telling you we had no future like it was fact. For making you think things that weren’t true.”
My throat tightens. “I accept your apology.”
The storm shifts a note lower.
“When I asked for you,” he says, quieter. “It wasn’t just the drugs talking. It was me.”
I bite my lip. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
I know because Angie told me that Henry said he was going to drive to Boulder for me. Before the accident.
Should I tell him I know?
If only I’d known that when Marjorie asked me to come…
We go quiet. I close my eyes because watching him not touch me is worse than not seeing him at all.
His hand moves a fraction. His knuckles find the edge of my blanket. It’s nothing. It’s everything. My skin prickles.
I shift, inching a breath closer to his heat, his shoulder, the line of his jaw in profile.
I could leave. I could go back down the hall and lie in an unfamiliar bed.
I don’t.
He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t speak. He breathes out slowly. Almost unnaturally slowly, as if he’s trying to calm himself.
I don’t leave the room.
And I don’t fall asleep.
Twenty
Henry
The fire snaps and spits, and the rain pelts the roof, but neither is as loud as my pulse in my ears.
I fix my stare on the flames because if I look at Tabitha, really look, I’ll roll over onto her and take what we both want.
The wood crackles, and all I can think about is how I want her that fiercely, like fire running through my veins.
Honesty.
Is she asleep yet?
Maybe if I say something…