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She gives me a soft, tentative smile, and despite the dark circles that ring her eyes, there's a softness around her features that just wasn't there the last time I saw her. I rock on my feet, wanting to take her in my arms and pull her close, but not really knowing if that’s what she needs.
“I heard Carrick singing…” she replies, her voice rough as it scratches out her words.
“He’s been singing more since we got back,” I reply, internally cringing at my awkwardness.
Get a fucking grip, Arden.
“I’m hoping that he’ll keep doing so. It’s soothing.”
“So that’s what finally woke you?” I ask, swallowing down this surprising surge of jealousy at the thought. I didn't realise how badly I wanted to be the one to bring her back until now. It makes me feel like a dick for even feeling this way.
“No, it kept me here in the present. It was Lorcan who drew me out of the darkness,” she says softly.
I nod my head, unable to form any words because of this toxic feeling growing inside of me. It’s petty, this jealousy, I should be grateful to my brothers. Iamgrateful, but I can’t deny that it hurts that I wasn’t the one to bring her back around.
“You've been busy,” she says, dropping her gaze back to the large pot before her.
"I was making you a tonic, but I can see you don't need it now,” I reply, the words coming out more harshly than I'd intended.
"You don't seem too happy about it," she says roughly, her face betraying the fact I've hurt her with my careless comment, her voice hoarse and cracked.
"Cyn–"
"I understand."
"No. You don't," I retort, my heart pounding like a drum as I take a few quick steps towards her, desperate to make amends but not knowing how to fully express the guilt and shame I feel. Not just over this jealous remark, but for everything.
My arrogance got her beaten and almost raped and killed. My selfishness meant her friend died brutally when perhaps Lorcan and I could've done something to prevent that. My need to bring her home and keep her cloistered has most likely stirred up the war between the O’Briens and the O’Farrells. Not to mention all the mistakes I made as a kid. The fact of the matter is, I've fucked up over and over again when it's come to Cyn, and I just wanted to do right by her one fucking time. I wanted to heal her after causing her so much pain.
Me.
I owed her that much at least.
"That came out wrong. It'sreallygood to see you up and about," I say earnestly, meaning every word of it, wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she forgives me, but not wanting to overstep. "How do you feel?"
With her eyes trained on me, her expression is one of guardedness, and it only serves to amplify my regret for making such a thoughtless remark. I hate that I put that look on her face.
"I feel... Better isn't exactly the right word. I guess, not as lost?"
She chews on her lip as her gaze drops back to the table and all the ingredients scattered across the surface.
"Not being lost is a good thing," I point out.
"It's better than feeling numb."
"Cyn, I–"
"What were you making?" she asks, cutting me off as she picks up a sprig of Motherwort, a herb with tiny lilac flowers and slim green leaves that look like the pointy end of a letter opener. She already knows the answer–of course she does, it's her recipe after all–but I tell her anyway.
"This," I say, opening up the pages of her recipe book and showing her.
"Ah,a tonic to heal a broken heart," she reads, a sad laugh releasing from her lips.
"Doesn't it work?" I ask, tucking my shaking hands into my jean pockets. I don’t know what I expected to happen when she woke up, but this awkward kind of tension wasn’t it.
"It depends on how you look at it," she replies. "This tonic helps with insomnia which some people get when they're grieving a loss, or trying to heal from a break up. It can calm a racing heart caused by anxiety, and settle an overworked mind, but actually healing a broken heart? I'm not so sure there are any medicines, natural or otherwise, that can do that."
"If anyone can do it, you can," I counter. "You're incredible."
