The direct question and momentary relief from pain caused Sadie’s usual boundaries to waver.
“I was up late finishing a freelance project,” she admitted, rubbing her temples and enjoying the momentary reprieve from the pain.
“You’re taking on extra work? While handling my book?” he challenged, brow furrowing as he watched her from across the way.
Sadie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose once more as the pain throbbed from the spike in her stress level before she replied, “I’m just saving up for a new laptop.”
“What happened to your old one?”
The question hung in the air, seemingly innocent but weighted with things she wasn’t ready to unpack. Sadie hesitated. This topic was so far outside the realm of a professional relationship. It wasn’t even something she had really shared with anyone other than Jess.
“Nate… my ex… he smashed it against the wall during an argument,” she told him, her voice low. “I had suggested he lookfor a steady job to help pay rent, since his writing career had stalled.”
The silence that followed was thick with tension. Sadie kept her gaze fixed on the tablet in her lap, unwilling to see pity on Corbyn’s face. It had been bad enough watching Jess flounder for words when she found out. When Corbyn finally spoke, though, his voice contained a tightly controlled anger that surprised her.
“He destroyed your computer? Deliberately?”
Sadie nodded, a slight movement that sent fresh pain radiating through her skull. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she once again was faced with admitting how bad things had been and how she had stayed despite so many warning signs.
“Not his finest moment. Or mine for pushing when I knew he was in one of his moods,” she confessed with an attempt at a shrug. Downplaying was one thing she had mastered over the years.
“There’s no excuse for that,” Corbyn said, the words clipped as if trying to maintain his composure. “None.”
The vehemence in his tone made her look up, wincing at the movement. His expression went cold, blue eyes blazing with an intensity that should have scared her. However, this wasn’t anger directed at her, but on her behalf. It was protective rather than threatening, and she couldn’t ignore the fact that it gave her a sense of security she had not felt in a very long time.
“It’s in the past,” she said softly. “I’m not with him anymore, that’s all that matters.”
Corbyn held her gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he nodded once, sharply, as if coming to a decision.
“Go lie down on the sofa,” he told her, continuing to surprise her with the sudden gentleness of his tone. “I’ll be right back.”
Before Sadie could protest, he was already striding toward the door, Riley trotting after him. The suggestion made sense; the sofa would be more comfortable than her chair. The fact that he had clearly been concerned with her comfort warmed her chest, and she carefully stood. Stretching out on the soft cushions, she closed her eyes.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when footsteps announced Corbyn’s return. She forced her eyes open to find him standing before her with a tray of supplies: a glass of water, what appeared to be medication, and a folded cloth.
“Edie keeps a pharmacy in the kitchen,” he explained, setting the items on the coffee table. “Says these work best for her migraines. Ibuprofen, I think, but stronger than the regular kind.”
Sadie accepted the pills gratefully, washing them down with cool water. “Thank you,” she said, the simple words inadequate for the rush of gratitude she felt. “You didn’t have to…”
“Don’t,” Corbyn cut her off, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Just… close your eyes.”
He unfurled the cloth, which turned out to be a cold compress. With surprising gentleness, he pressed it to her forehead. The sudden coolness was a blessed relief against the pain, and she closed her eyes, unable to stop the quiet sound of contentment that escaped her.
“It’s Edie’s trick,” Corbyn muttered, sounding almost embarrassed. “Hold it there. It helps, apparently.”
Sadie complied, keeping the compress in place as Corbyn moved around the room, adjusting things to maximize her comfort. He stirred the fire to a lower flame, and even retrieved a soft throw blanket from a cabinet, draping it carefully over her legs.
“Is that… alright?” he asked, hovering above her with uncharacteristic uncertainty.
“Perfect,” she murmured, the simple comfort nearly overwhelming in her vulnerable state. “Thank you, Corbyn.”
The tenderness of these actions, so at odds with his usual brusque demeanor, brought a lump to Sadie’s throat. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared for her this way—certainly not Nate, who’d treated her migraines as inconvenient interruptions to his needs.
“You should rest,” Corbyn said, still hovering awkwardly beside the sofa. “I can work quietly at my desk. Or leave if you prefer silence.”
“No, stay,” Sadie said quickly, unable to stop the blush that formed on her cheeks when she realized how desperate she must sound. “I don’t want to run you out of your study… and the company is nice.”
Corbyn nodded. “I’ll just do some writing then. I don’t need the light on with the tablet to work.”
