“Yes,” I startle. “Thank you.”
He pauses, jaw twitching. Then, slow and awkward, “You’re welcome.”
But my thoughts are past registering him now. Or the miracle of his two-word response.
I caused this.
I’m the problem.
I ruin people.
“You should go to bed.”
My spine straightens, startled by the full sentence, calling after him as he heads for the kitchen, “I thought you don’t believe in shoulds.”
He stacks the plates by the sink, then, grabs a stack of blankets from a steamer trunk in the living room corner and hands one to me. “More if you need them. Help yourself.”
He takes the rest to the floor in front of the hearth, fashioning a makeshift bed. My heart drops into my stomach, unable to believe my eyes.
“The floor? You can’t sleep there.”
“Couch’s too short,” he says matter-of-fact, like I should already know this.
“But your bed. Your?—”
“Yours now,” he cuts in.
My cheeks heat.
“Temporarily,” he adds, and the knot in my throat relaxes.
Austin turns away, trudging down the hallway. I doze off in the chair, elbows braced on the table. I don’t know how long I stay this way or when I hear the floorboards creak.
I raise my head, taking in his new appearance—gray sweatpants and a V-neck white T-shirt that hugs his chest in lethal ways. My heart stutters.
He moves into the kitchen, washing dishes and putting food away. I should help. But I can barely move—in and out of consciousness. Crashing hard.
Then, he pads past, turning off lights slowly. Not making a fuss. Not saying a word.
Finally, I rise with a yawn, clutching the blanket to my chest as I make my way to the bathroom. On the countertop, I find an unopened toothbrush and a fresh tube of toothpaste.
And then, it hits me all at once. How rude I’ve been. How unreasonable and ungrateful. God, I’m even worse than Trevor said I was.
Trevor.
I remove my sweater and stand in front of the mirror, eyes blurring as they wander across my skin finding purple and blue patches at the wrist and one shoulder.
Where he gripped me too hard. Where he didn’t mean to. Where I deserved it.
I catch a sob with my hand, fearful Austin will hear. Even more afraid he’ll keep listening—waiting—letting me sit with realizations that only happen where I fear most…
Silence.
My grandpa’s words wash over me. The ones I refused to believe. The ones Austin has never said… just implied with every quiet action, every kind gesture.
“You deserve better, Allie,” I whisper, fingertips brushing over darkened flesh.
The words don’t feel right in my mouth. Like an affirmation that isn’t true. At least, not yet. So, I try for something simpler. Something I may be able to wrap my head around in the cozy silence of this cabin.
