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.
It’s the attack.
I’m not over it.
