But it did hurt.
She took off her pointe shoes and followed him up the stairs. He pulled back the quilt on the old bed and waited while she slipped beneath it despite the fact she was dressed in clothes instead of her nightgown. His touch was gentle as he tucked the blanket around her shoulders. Like she was breakable. Or precious.
She closed her eyes, holding back something thick and tight in her throat.
“Goodnight, Daph.”
She heard his steps retreat down the stairs and the creak of the couch as he settled onto it.
Then she was alone.
CHAPTER 6
At four a.m.,Daphne woke because her room was freezing. She padded into the cold kitchen on bare feet and discovered the power had gone out. The silence it left behind felt heavier than the storm that continued to rage outside.
The fire in the hearth burned steadily, casting orange shadows. A propane camping stove sat on the counter with a pot of coffee on top. On the couch, Abe sat hunched forward, a mug cupped in both hands. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans. A pillow and throw blanket told her he’d tried to sleep out there. His shoulders looked tight, his focus fixed on the fire—and the bedroom beyond it—like he was waiting for disaster.
She poured herself a mug and sat beside him. “No change in Damian?”
“No fever, but he hasn’t woken except for a few murmurs. His breathing’s better, though.”
“That’s good, right?”
“It is.” A pause. “After you went to bed, he rallied for a minute. I got a couple of ibuprofens in him, cleaned the head wound. But he’s drifting again.”
She settled back into the leather couch, holding her mug to keep her fingers warm. “Waking up, even briefly, that has to be good.”
He didn’t look at her. “I’ve seen soldiers go quiet before they fall apart. He could have a concussion. Internal bleeding.”
“You got him out of the snow. You saved him.”
“You helped.”
The silence that followed was thick and cold, like the storm pressing against the windows. She wanted to reach for him. Press her forehead to his shoulder. But something heavier than ice lingered between them.
The ring.
The question that hung in the air.
She cleared her throat. “About the ring…”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He stood, setting his mug aside, like not moving had become unbearable.
She watched him pace the kitchen. “Abe?—”
“No, really.” His voice was quiet but tight. “You were tired. You didn’t have to put yourself through that. Just to prove something.”
“I wasn’t doing it for you,” she snapped before catching herself and softening her tone. “I wasn’t performing. I needed to know if I had anything left. Anything I could stand on.”
“Alone?” His jaw flexed. “I didn’t even know you were practicing on pointe.”
“I wasn’t hiding it from you. I just…” She let out a breath. “If I told you, I’d have to admit I was trying to be what I used to be. And then I’d have to admit I was failing.”
“Reclaiming who you were isn’t failure, Daph. It’s brave.”
“Except I’m not brave.” She stood and moved in front of him to stop his pacing. “I haven’t answered your proposal because I don’t know if I’m someone worth choosing. I lost everything. Mycareer, my confidence. I can’t even finish a pas de deux without falling. What part of that is brave?”
“All of it.” He took her shoulders, his gaze steady and intense. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m asking you to build a life with me. This messy, shifting, honest life. I don’t want to save you. I want to build with you.”
