My stomach dips. I slam the phone face down, breath short. My pulse is too fast. I don’t reply. I can’t reply.
Henry sets his mug down harder than necessary. Tea sloshes. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.
The silence between us is different now. Heavier.
I glance up.
He’s looking at my phone.
His jaw is a hard, tight line. His eyes are darker than they were last night, the blue storm still in them.
Heat curls low in my stomach, but it’s tangled up with guilt, fear, and something else I can’t name.
I want to say it’s nothing. I want to say Lance doesn’t matter. But I’ve already said these things, and even so, my voice won’t work, not with Henry looking at me like that.
The storm outside might be over.
Inside? I’m afraid it’s just beginning.
Twenty-Two
Henry
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
Tabitha doesn’t flinch. Not outwardly. She keeps her fingers around her mug like the heat’s a shield. “Yeah.”
I want to hate him.
But how can I? He saved her from what could have been something horrendous. Something she probably still hasn’t recovered from.
Still, I hate him. I hate him and am grateful to him at the same time.
How would I have reacted before Ralph? Before my mind got so fucked up? Would I have been this ridiculously jealous of someone who doesn’t mean anything to her?
But that’s also a lie. Of course he means something to her. He saved her.
Hell, if I were in her shoes, I’d probably choose him over me. What the hell have I ever done for her besides fuck her hard and fast after promising myself I wouldn’t and then breaking her heart in the same fucking breath?
I close my eyes, inhale deeply. It doesn’t help. The cabin has that after-storm hush, a kind of ringing quiet that deafens.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture kills me. Familiar and brand-new at the same time. I want to step forward and push the hair back myself, press my mouth to the soft spot under her jaw until she forgets every name but mine.
I don’t move.
“Henry,” she says, quiet. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
She frowns. “Circle the thing we’re both pretending isn’t in the room.”
I huff a laugh that doesn’t sound like one. “I’m not pretending anything.”
She cocks her head. “You’re jealous.”
“Yeah.” No point dressing it up. “I am.”
She parts her lips. In surprise or relief? I can’t tell. It only makes me want to kiss her.
