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We’re back at the cabin. Jameson leans down to open the door, and we’re in. The noise level from the wind drops as soon as the door is closed tight behind us. We could be in a movie, on the run, and we’ve found somewhere safe to hide.
I—I can’t think that. It’s not us against the world. It’s me against him.
But my ankle hurts, and my eyes throb, and I’mfreezing.The strong, brave thing to do in this moment is to put myself back together so I can…
So I can…
What if it was a sign? What if that loose piece of gravel was the universe trying to keep me in the right place?
So I canthink.That’s what. I can’t make decisions in this state.
Snowball is beside himself. Jameson walks me over to the cage and holds me up with one arm while he reaches through the wires to stroke his bird’s head. Snowball settles. He tweets at top speed for another minute like he’s scolding Jameson. Scolding both of us, maybe.
“Shh,” Jameson says. “It’s fine.”
Snowball scrunches his head toward his neck and closes his eyes.
Jameson takes us into the bathroom and sits me on the edge of the tub. Lights go on, but only a little. It reminds me of candlelight. He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it into a plastic laundry basket in the corner. The shirt lands with a soppingthud.
Wow.
Wow.
I’ve been naked almost this whole time, but Jameson hasn’t, and…
He’s incredibly hot. I was not wrong last fall when I ran into him. He has a fine, muscular body. All of him seemscrafted,including his wet hair. It must’ve fallen out of its bun when he came to find me. He gathers it back up and ties it off. I can’t take my eyes off him while he moves around the bathroom, gathering towels. A comb. A bottle of detangler from the cabinet below the sink.
Then he comes back.
His gorgeous, perfect shirtless torso has been an excellent distraction from the disheveled mess thatIam. Jameson runs the faucet to fill the tub and crouches down in front of me. He puts a rolled-up towel under the ankle that twisted when I fell.
When he glances up, there’s regret in his eyes.
It’s a complicated regret.
Jameson glances at my waist. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Sorry about what?”
He reaches out, and his fingertips meet bare skin.
I’m cold, but so is he, so the touch isn’t a shock. It’s the tear in my leotard that surprises me. I unfold my arms, lifting them to see the damage.
The rip is at my waist.
“Oh, that’s—that’s a bummer.” I felt cried out by the time we reached the cabin, so I’m surprised to find fresh tears in my eyes. I blink at them, intending to be stoic, and two of them openly defy me and fall onto my cheeks. “Not a big—it’s really not a big deal, though. It’s just clothes.”
“No, it’s not.” Jameson hesitates, then puts his palm over the rip as if to hide it from me. “You said this was special. You only have the one.”
You don’t care.I want to throw that in his face. Howcouldhe care, given the kidnapping situation?
Then again, he could’ve burned it with the rest of my clothes, and he didn’t.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I grit my teeth to get my chin to stop wobbling. It won’t stop. “I’m done with it.”
His fingers curl, brushing against the exposed skin at my waist. “What kind of dancer are you?”
I let out a wild laugh. Losing the leotard shouldn’t be this heartbreaking. I know there are more important things in life to lose. That I’vealreadylost. My mother. My freedom. My disgustingly naïve belief that people are good, deep down.
