“Another point for technology,” Sadie quipped softly. “I’m keeping a tally, you know. Soon, you’ll be setting up Riley’s social media account. ‘Adventures of a Literary Hound.’ It’ll go viral.”
A sound escaped him then. It was a low, rusty chuckle that surprised them both. It transformed his face completely, softening the hard lines around his mouth, making him look years younger.
“Now I know the migraine’s affected your brain,” he retorted, but there was a warmth in his voice.
Sadie smiled despite her throbbing head, oddly pleased at having coaxed that rare sound from him, and she smirked, “Mark it on the calendar, Pearce. I made you laugh. Proof that miracles do happen.”
He shook his head, but that almost smile lingered.
Little by little, the medication dulled the pain, dulling its sharpness, and Sadie adjusted the compress before sinking deeper into the sofa. Riley had returned at some point and nowlay on the floor beside her, his steady breathing centering her as she felt her eyes growing heavy.
“You know,” she murmured, her voice soft in the quiet room, “I half expected you to tell me to walk it off.”
Corbyn snorted from his desk, looking up from the tablet. “What kind of monster do you take me for, Reed?”
“A grumpy one,” she replied, a hint of her usual spark returning despite the pain.
“Alright, that’s enough clever remarks from you,” Corbyn said, his tone gentler than his words. “Close your eyes and rest. The medicine won’t work if you keep that brain of yours spinning.”
“Such excellent bedside manner,” she murmured with a faint smile. “Has anyone ever told you that you missed your calling as a nurse? So soothing.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Go to sleep, Reed, before I reconsider my newfound patience.”
Through half-closed eyes, she observed him at his desk. The way he held the stylus, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrated, the occasional glance he cast in her direction when he thought she wasn’t watching. There was a gentleness to him that he kept carefully hidden, a capacity for kindness that emerged only in these unguarded moments. Sadie’s eyes drifted fully closed, consciousness slipping away.
The last thing she registered was the quiet rustle of Corbyn rising from his desk, his footsteps approaching the sofa. Then, the gentlest touch, fingertips lightly brushing hair from her forehead as sleep finally claimed her completely.
March 1, 2025
-Corbyn-
Corbyn tiptoed through the study, wincing at the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. He paused at the door, allowing himself one last look to make sure Sadie was still sleeping. The way her face had softened when he had given in to the temptation to brush the hair away from her face still lingered in his mind. She had looked so vulnerable, reacting with such trust as he’d cared for her. In the aftermath, there was a complicated tangle of emotions he wasn’t ready to untangle.
“How is she?” Edie asked, her voice deliberately lowered, when he entered the kitchen.
Corbyn cleared his throat. “Still sleeping.”
She nodded, turning back to her cooking. The kitchen was warm despite the early March chill that seeped through the old manor’s walls. For as long as Corbyn could remember, this room had been the heart of the house—warm, loud, and lived in. It was Edie’s domain where all needs, both physical and emotional, were tended to.
“Paul’s just gone to fetch more firewood,” she said, gesturing toward the back door. “This cold snap’s set to continue through the weekend.”
Corbyn nodded and crossed to the cabinet near the sink, automatically reaching for plates. The familiar routine of setting the table steadied him somewhat, giving him something to focus on aside from his thoughts of the woman sleeping in his study.
“Has Reed mentioned anything to you about her ex?” he asked abruptly, placing the silverware down more forcefully than necessary.
Edie turned from the stove, her expression shifting from concern to interest. “Not in detail. She mentioned she had been living with her boss after a breakup. Why?”
Corbyn’s shoulders stiffened as he arranged the napkins. Just thinking about what Sadie had admitted to him earlier had him gritting his teeth and wishing he could tell the wanker exactly what he thought of him.
“Over the past few weeks, she’s mentioned him a few times,” he hesitated, weighing how much to share of Sadie’s private confession. “Specifically, regarding his temper and penchant for destroying her things. Like her laptop.”
The wooden spoon clattered against the pot’s rim, and Edie’s outrage was immediate. “He what? Deliberately?”
Corbyn nodded, his scarred left hand clenching reflexively. “Not to mention the manipulative texts and emails he’s been sending. It’s the kind of control that leaves no bruises but does plenty of damage.”
The back door swung open, admitting Paul with an armload of logs and a blast of cold air. He shut the door behind him, stamping his boots on the mat.
“Weather’s turned nasty,” he grumbled, setting the wood on the log rack. “Frost already forming on the…” He stopped, reading the tension in the room. “What’s happened?”
