"Jamie." She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "I've got you. I won't let you do something you'll regret."
The words hit me harder than they should.I've got you. Carter said that, in the cabin, when my heat was cresting and I couldn't think straight. He’s a liar.
I push the memory away.
"There's something else," Akari says carefully. "And I don't want you to take this the wrong way."
"What?"
"Have you thought about talking to someone? A professional, I mean."
I grimace. “I don’t know.”
"I know someone," Akari continues. "A friend of a friend. She specialises in high-profile clients, very discreet. No one would have to know."
I stare at the table. The grain of the wood, the small scratches from years of use. "I'll think about it."
"That's all I'm asking."
We sit in silence for a moment. Outside, the city is doing its city things—traffic sounds, distant sirens, the general hum of life continuing regardless of my personal catastrophe.
"So you want me to keep you honest," she says eventually.
I raise an eyebrow. "Go on."
She leans forward. "Take a pregnancy test. Not now, it's too early, but in a couple of weeks. Just to rule it out."
"I'm on contraceptives. Have been for years. I'm not worried about... you know." I gesture vaguely. "Consequences."
"Jamie." Her voice has taken on the patient tone she uses when she thinks I'm being an idiot. "Prime matches are notoriously fertile. The hormones during heat can override contraceptives. Everyone knows that."
"The odds are still—"
"Not zero. The odds are not zero."
"Fine." I'm confident it's unnecessary, but arguing with Akari when she's in mother hen mode is pointless. "I'll take a test. Happy?"
"Ecstatic." She stands and stretches. "Now, you need to eat something more substantial than a sandwich and then sleep for about twelve hours. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor."
"I'm a friend who's watched you run yourself into the ground for months. Close enough."
I let her bully me into eating leftover pasta while she puts on a mindless reality show. We don't talk about Carter, or the Cranes, or any of it. We just sit together, and slowly, the tension in my shoulders starts to ease.
By nine o'clock, I can barely keep my eyes open. I excuse myself and head to my room, collapsing onto my own bed for the first time in a week. The sheets are cool and clean, smelling like laundry detergent instead of cedar and sweat.
I should sleep. My body is screaming for it.
Instead, I lie awake.
The anger has faded now, leaving something more complicated in its wake. I keep thinking about the first night at the cabin, when Carter fed me the most delicious home cooked meal I’d ever had.
I hate that I miss it.
I hate that some part of me is already wondering if I made a mistake, throwing away that SIM card. It’s still in the trash. I can get it out. What if he tries to reach me? What if he wants to apologise?
No. Stop.
