“This day,” I say, shaking my head and surveying the rustic cabin. “Still can’t believe any of it.”
“Can’t believe?” he asks, eyes darting to the bruises on my wrist again.
I pull down my sweater sleeve, trying to erase the mark. Along with the fear and pain.
Impossible…
Maybe unnecessary now.
I stare across the table at Austin. The opposite of Trevor in every way. Quiet where Trevor is loud. Thoughtful where he’s cruel. Steady where chaos used to live.
I thought what Trevor and I had was love. The butterflies in the stomach. The drama. The fighting.
Almost like a proof of devotion through pain.
Maybe that’s how I thought all men work.
But Austin’s different. He gives me space without asking whether I need it—like he’s already decided not to take up more room than he’s been given.
He catches me staring. I bring my glass quickly to my lips, like an alibi, then look away.
“There a problem?”
“No,” I answer, clearing my throat. Working hard to steady my voice. “Just lots on my mind.”
Chapter
Five
ALLIE
Ieat too fast, then stop halfway through. Freefalling. My eyes droop, so does my head like I might bury it in what’s left of the lasagna.
“Did I do okay?” the cowboy asks, eyes searching mine.
A simple enough question. But it ignites fury inside.
I bite my bottom lip, pushing my fork around on my plate. Arms weak, body trembling. Even my teeth join in chattering.
“Cold?” Austin asks, not waiting for the answer. Down the hallway he stops at the thermostat, then disappears, returning with a flannel.
I open my mouth to protest. But catch it in mid-air before words come out. He grabs his plate heading back to the kitchen, purposely not looking at me.
Until I relent and shrug into the soft fabric. Pine sap and smoke encircle me. I want to bury my head in the fabric, breathe in warmth and strength.
Shame settles inky in my stomach.
What the hell is wrong with you, Allie?
I can almost hear Trevor barking out the question, feel his hollow eyes boring into me.
“Want more?” the cowboy grunts from the kitchen loading up his plate.
My stomach lurches, desperate for more, even though I’m stuffed. As if I can bury guilt and shame beneath layers of marinara and mozzarella.
Instead, I shake my head, so dangerously close to tears I wonder if I should excuse myself to the bedroom.
Theonlybedroom.
