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He came to a halt when he got off on her floor. There she was—his Izzy—up and moving on her own. She wore old jeans that had become a little too big on her and a purple hoodie. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders and for the first time in days—more than a week—she met his gaze.
Less than a moment later, her eyes were bleak and distant as she looked down. She tucked her healing hands into the pouch. The blisters h
ad healed so she didn’t have to have gauze on all the time. But now she’d started hiding her hands constantly.
Logan walked up to her. “You look amazing.”
She lifted bored eyes to him.
He cupped her face and she flinched away. He held firm. “No more hiding, Izzy.” He drew his hand down her arm, gently and firmly, easing her hand out from the pocket.
She shrank back. Abused darker skin peeled back from bright pink, angry-looking skin, leaving it a mottled mess. He pressed her palm to his and loosely laced their fingers.
She sucked in a breath.
“Does that hurt?”
She nodded.
“Are you lying?”
She frowned.
“I thought so.” He kept his hand in hers, making sure to keep the pressure light, not squeezing too hard. He was done not touching her. He wasn’t going to let her lock him out.
They would figure this out if it killed him.
Sixteen
Bella forced herself not to breathe hard as she took small steps. The stitches in her side were still healing and would be for a few more days. It was hard to believe that within ten days her body was starting to heal whether she wanted it to or not.
She wanted to stop and see Adam before they left, but didn’t know how to ask…him.
How to ask Logan.
Even his name felt like too much in her head and her mouth.
Too big like the man that stood beside her. Big, like his hand that used to feel so natural and perfect in hers—now it was foreign. Like he didn’t fit anymore. Like she’d become shrunken and twisted with the heat from the fire.
Would she heal?
Did she deserve to heal?
Would she be like the healing flesh forming beneath the peeling autumn leaves of her skin? Would she eventually slough off the pain and find that she hadn’t lost herself? Or would mottled skin be the new Bella inside and out?
She didn’t even know how to open her mouth. Her words were gone. As if they’d burned to ash in her store with all the books—all the words—she’d collected in her lifetime. They buzzed and teased at her tongue, but ultimately the need to talk fell away before she could catch those precious little moments.
He tried to talk to her about the store, about what she wanted to do. To start over and honor what they’d built in some new way, or walk away? Just the idea left her frozen.
Why had she been spared?
What would happen to them? The memories, the business, their friendship. All of it was in the ashes with her life.
With Nic.
With the shadows of Adam.
She couldn’t bear to ask about Nichole. Was she already buried? Was there an investigation? Would there be retribution?
