I pushed it to the back of my mind because I had to. The seminar started the next day.
But still that man comes into my nightmares. I don’t remember him from sleep, but when I wake up, my heart pounding and my forehead slick with sweat, I know damned well what I was dreaming about.
Sure, Henry still has to deal with taking Ralph’s life, but his accident changed him. Gave him a jolt that he needed.
He could have died.
Oh my God.
He could have fucking died.
I’m not sure I’ve let myself actually think that thought until this very minute.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush.
We stare at each other across the kitchen, the morning light falling cold and gray between us. My phone vibrates once in my pocket, a faint buzz I pretend not to feel.
I don’t move. Neither does he.
“You make me feel alive,” he continues. “Since the shooting. Since the sirens. Since the…everything. It’s like the world turned two-dimensional. You’re the one thing that doesn’t feel flat. Before the accident, I thought I was too fucked up to be any good to you. Then I decided to try anyway, but the beam at my place had other ideas. And now, after I’ve looked my own life in the eye, I’m… I don’t know.” He frowns. “I can’t say I’m fully whole. But is anyone ever?”
There it is again.
Henry.
Simply Henry.
Henry without the armor.
I move toward him. “You’re very composed for someone who says I’m the only thing keeping him from being two-dimensional.”
“Composed? Are you kidding me?” He rubs at his forehead. “All I can think about is taking you back to bed, Tabitha. You and your amber eyes, your gorgeous tits, and the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”
“I should have stayed.” I gulp. “I should have made you talk to me after the wedding.”
“You were protecting your life,” he says. “Your career. And I told you to go. Don’t put any of this on yourself. It’s all on me.”
I look down. “Lance texted me again.”
His jaw goes tight, but I can tell he’s trying to take it all with a grain of salt.
Why did I even say that? Am I trying to get a rise out of him? Am I challenging him to approach the whole Lance thing with maturity?
Either way, I know I’m pushing his buttons. And I’m going to press even further.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say. “About all of that.”
He draws in a breath. Holds it. Then he leans back, chair creaking. “I’m thinking the guy who texted you helped you on a night I wasn’t there. I’m grateful for that.” His eyebrows twitch. “I’m also thinking I’d like to put my fist through his face. And I’m thinking I should have been there, and if that damned beam hadn’t fallen on me, I would have been.”
Silence again, but not empty. It hums. Weird.
He nudges the chair back and stands. “If you want to go, I understand. I’m the one who fucked up. Not you.”
A weird tenderness surges through me. “I don’t want to go,” I say. “I want to know if this thing between us exists once we leave here.”
“It does,” he says, no hesitation. “At least, I hope it does.”
I sigh. “How can it? I’m not going to give up my seminar. Or medical school, for that matter, and you’re not going to leave the ranch and the foundation.”
