“Sit,” she told him, gesturing to the couch. “Eat something.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” She handed him the bowl of soup. “Now sit before you fall over.”
He sat and accepted the soup with shaking hands. He took a sip and his eyes closed briefly.
“It’s very good,” he said.
“My great-grandmother’s recipe.”
They sat in a silence broken only by the fire’s crackle and the storm’s distant howl. He ate mechanically, like he was running on autopilot, and she curled up next to him on the couch, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching.
“How bad are the roads?” she asked finally.
He set down the empty bowl with a sigh. “Impassable. I barely made it here and that was an hour ago. We’re not getting back to town tonight.”
“We?”
“I can sleep in my car if?—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “You’re not sleeping in your car during a blizzard. You can sleep on the couch.”
His hands clenched. “I don’t think?—”
“I’m not asking you to stay forever, just through the storm.” She met his eyes. “Unless you’d prefer freezing to death in your car to spending the night under the same roof as me?”
“That’s not—” He broke off, jaw tight. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not.”
“After what I said. What I did?—”
“You were scared.” She shifted around to face him fully. “I understand being scared. I don’t like it and I think you’re wrong, but I understand it.”
He winced. “I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away, but he didn’t, and her hand settled over his. “But sorry doesn’t mean much if you’re just going to run again as soon as the storm clears.”
“I don’t know if I can be what you need.”
“I don’t think you know what I need. I think you’re running because it feels safer than trying—and that’s not fair to either of us. Or to Hyde.”
He stared at their joined hands. Even without the transformation, his was so much larger than hers, but it was the hand of someone who healed and helped and tried so hard to be good.
“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, and she blinked back the tears.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“Every day. Every minute. Like a vital part of me was missing.”
“Victor—”
“Hyde won’t stop,” he said, his voice raw and tired. “He’s been fighting me constantly because he’s grieving. And I keep trying to suppress it with the formula but it’s not working and I’m so tired of being at war with myself.”
