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I spit on him at least once. A couple of times I tried to slap him, but he always caught my hand before I did. I resisted him like a defiant toddler.
And those are just the times I can remember.
I nod back at him, also not smiling. My hands are damp, so I twist them together behind my back. “Hey,” I manage to say. “Thanks for helping out.”
“Of course.”
There’s no possible way of reading on his face how he feels about this situation. It’s utterly composed. His eyes are sharp and observant but not soft in any way. They look over me rather than at me most of the time.
He hasn’t changed. He’s exactly what I remember.
I can only hope I’m not the same person he used to know.
“I don’t have much room in this house,” I say, forcing myself to be practical instead of pulling inward into a tight ball in the face of the flurry of chaotic emotions. “There’re just two bedrooms and the sunroom, which I use as my studio. So I’m not sure where you guys will?—”
“I’ve already arranged for rooms nearby for us. We don’t have to all stay in your house. One of us will always be on duty, but we’ll do our best to give you privacy.”
“Thank you.” Thank goodness Caleb won’t always be lurking around my house. “You’re welcome to have use of the spare bedroom. I almost never have anyone stay there, and that would give you a space to set up here in the cottage.”
“That would be helpful,” he says, his eyes resting on my face briefly before shifting away. “Thank you.”
“I’ll show you.” It’s a relief to have something to do as I walk out of the living room, pointing out the small kitchen and dining area and the sunroom beyond them before going down the short hall and showing him the hall bathroom, master bedroom and bath, and the spare bedroom.
The furnishings are simple but good quality—solid wood furniture and handmade rugs—and the walls are decorated by paintings I’ve done and other pieces I’ve picked up here and there. For the past few years, this cottage has been a solace to me, always clean and pretty and peaceful, reflecting the person I want to be now.
But it’s a lot different from the way the other Worthings live. I suddenly wonder what Caleb will think about it.
Reminding myself that his opinion shouldn’t matter doesn’t entirely convince me.
“This will work great if you’re really okay with giving up the room.”
“It’s fine. I almost never use it.”
“I can keep most of the security equipment in here so it will be out of your hair.” As if his choice of words prompts the gesture, his eyes focus on my hair, which is long and straight and dark brown.
It’s several inches longer than it used to be, and it’s hanging in a shiny fall down my back.
I smooth it down restlessly. “That will work fine.”
“We’ll set up a sophisticated security system here on your property, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to get access to your phone. This guy likes to send messages and make calls, so if you’ll let me, I can block all strange numbers from your phone—everything except the numbers already in your contact list.”
That’s something I wouldn’t have predicted, but the only people I ever want calling me are already in my contacts, and I definitely don’t want to get messages from a stalker. “Okay. You can do that.”
“Thanks. That should be the most intrusive thing I have to do.”
“I understand.” Prompted more by duty and responsibility than anything else, I take a shaky breath and add, “I did want to say…”
He’s been eyeballing the scene out the window—like he’s taking mental measurements rather than appreciating the winter view—but he turns to face me at my words. “Yes?”
“I want to apologize.” I lick my lips nervously before I catch myself and stop. “For everything back then. I was… terrible to you, and I’m sorry about it. You may not believe me, but I am doing better now.”
“I know you are,” he says softly. “I hear a lot of what your family says, so I know how well you’ve done since you got out of rehab. And even if I didn’t, I can see for myself how much you’ve changed.”
My cheeks flush, and I’m not sure whether I’m pleased or embarrassed by his acknowledgment. “I should have apologized to you a long time ago, but I felt awkward about it.”
He’s looking at me for real now. Still not relaxed or smiling but really seeing me. “I did my job. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“It feels like I do. So that’s what I’m doing. And I also wanted to thank you. For saving me so many times and for taking me to Hartwood Center. That’s the place that really made the difference.”
