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I nod.And with you. “I can’t get back the years I’ve missed. I can’t risk missing a second more. It’s probably another thing that’s messing with my sleep.”
“You’ll heal quicker if you rest,” she pleads, gingerly slicing a carrot. “She doesn’t stop. Ever. You’ll burn out if you run in her shoes.”
“She’s a lot like you then?”
Scarlet rolls her eyes, as if she’s been told it a million times before. “Ave’s more like you than you think.”
I tilt my head in question.
“I’m not going to give you all the answers,” she says, her smile genuine. I smile with her, transfixed, desperately wanting to remember the look on her face.
This simple moment while she stands at the kitchen counter, happily cutting up veg.
“I suppose I deserve to work for it.”
She pops a brow, trying in vain to hide her smile as it grows bigger.
Fuck, that feels good to see. And although I do deserve to work for it, I also want the answers. The missed moments and little pieces of them I’ll never get back, I want them injected into my brain as if they’ve never been lost.
“What time does Mason finish work today?” I ask.
“He should be leaving the office around now. Why’s that?”
I stand, rearranging my crutches. “I just need a favour. I’m going to go for a lie-down.”
Scarlet watches me, as if she has something to say. “Sure. I’ll send someone up once dinner is ready.”
I leave the kitchen and make my way up the stairs, my leg still throbbing. A little while longer and the pain meds will hit. It’ll see me through dinner, at least.
In my room, I walk to my bed, picking up my phone from the sideboard.
I call Mason.
“Sullivan?”
I chuckle at the familiarity my last name brings after so much time. “Yeah, it’s me. Have you left the office yet?”
“I’m in the car waiting on Nina. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I was wondering, the letters Scarlet wrote to me, are they still at Elliot’s place?”
There’s quiet on the other end of the line, and I pull the phone away from my ear, wondering if he’s hung up on me.
After the fuss about me reading them—granted it was important as fuck—I don’t expect pushback from him now on it.
“I’ll stop by on the way home. And, Lance?”
“What?”
“It’s not Elliot’s place anymore. It’s yours.”
I run my hand through my hair, not realising what I’ve even said. “Right, yeah, of course.”
My place.
I end the call and toss the phone down on the bed, followed by my body. I prop my leg up under two pillows, the ache still pulsing like a second heartbeat.
I feel broken, every muscle in my body desperate for rest.
