“After he left yesterday, Nate started making phone calls to my office’s HR department,” Sadie said, staring down at her hands, trying to work up the courage to tell him the rest.
“About?” Corbyn let that single word hang between them, waiting for her to continue.
“You,” she said softly, not daring to meet his eyes. “He tried to tell them that you were taking advantage of me.” In her peripheral vision, she saw his posture stiffen, and she pressed on, “Jess handled it, but… I’m so sorry, Corbyn. I don’t want him to ruin this for you… and if you want me to go back to New York, I would understand.”
She blinked back tears and then forced herself to look up. She mentally prepared herself for the very real possibility that he might have finally had enough of the drama she had brought his way. That he might agree and send her packing. Nate’s words from the previous night, about how she was a convenience, echoed through her mind. At a certain point, whether she was good at her job or not, her presence in his life wouldn’t be worth the additional stress.
“Stop apologizing for him,” he replied, his voice tight with anger. “You are not responsible for what that tosser does.”
She shook her head with a sigh, staring back down at her phone in her hand. “Maybe not, but if it weren’t for my poor choices, you wouldn’t have been dragged into this mess.”
“He’s a manipulator,” Corbyn told her, and she looked up to find him wearing that serious scowl that he usually reserved only for when he disagreed with her suggestions during editing sessions. “He’s trying to convince the world he’s worried because he cares, so he’ll ultimately appear to be the victim. And you’re doing exactly what he wants—blaming yourself instead of him.”
The directness of his words made her flinch, but there was something else in his expression now, something that went deeper than simple frustration that had her waiting silently for him to continue.
“It’s how they operate,” he continued, and the sudden roughness of his voice didn’t escape her notice. “They twist everything until you can’t tell which way is up, and you’re apologizing for their actions. If they’re angry, it’s because you provoked them. If they’re sad, it’s because you’re not supportive enough. If they’re destructive, it’s because you pushed them to it.”
“And now that I’m trying to move on with my life…” she began, her voice trailing off.
“He’s lashing out in any way he can,” Corbyn finished for her, turning on the sofa so he was facing her more directly. “I want you to answer a question for me. What is it you want? Not what I want or what Jess wants or what you think you should do to appease Nate… but what you want?”
“I want to stay and finish what we started,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
For the first time, she wasn’t entirely sure she meant the book, and that thought had her looking away as her eyes prickled once more. When she dared to glance his way again, he was watching her silently, his brow furrowed with worry.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she told him, voice still soft.
“Like what?” he asked, slowly reaching out to brush her hair back from her face and tuck it behind her ear. The tendernessof the action caused her to blink rapidly. All of the emotions she had been trying to force down were starting to bubble to the surface. When he wiped away an escaped tear with his thumb, though, something inside her broke.
Looking away, she tried to regain control, but another tear fell. Her breathing was becoming ragged as she fought against the rising tide, and her chest felt tight, like she couldn’t get enough air.
“I’m sorry. I just need a minute…”
Her voice caught on the last word, thick with tears. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the pieces together, willing herself not to crumble in front of him.
“Sadie,” he whispered, and the way he said her name, like it was precious, was the final straw.
His arms wrapped around her slowly, as if he were afraid she might bolt, and he pulled her into an embrace. The sob that escaped seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest, raw and wounded. Sadie buried her face against his sweater, her shoulders shaking as the tears ran down her face.
At first, Corbyn’s posture was stiff, but slowly she felt him relax. Without any hesitation, she melted against him, and his arms tightened around her as if he could shelter her from the pain.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, his breath warm against her hair, his cheek resting against the top of her head. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Sadie clung to him, her fingers clutching at his sweater, the solid warmth of him anchoring her as the storm raged. “I’m sorry,” she hiccuped between sobs.
Corbyn held her tighter. “Don’t.” His hand made slow, soothing circles on her back. “You haven’t done anything that you need to apologize for.”
She felt something then, so light she might have imagined it—the gentle press of his lips against the crown of her head. Warmth flooded through her, that simple action bringing more comfort than words ever could.
Gradually, her sobs began to subside, becoming hiccupping breaths and then just the occasional shuddering sigh. As her crying quieted, Sadie became acutely aware of other things—Corbyn’s warmth surrounding her, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, the way his hand had found its way into her hair. His shirt was damp where her tears had fallen, and she could smell his cologne mixed with something uniquely him.
Embarrassment began to creep in. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him through damp lashes. His blue eyes were soft with concern, the lack of judgment she found there making her breath catch.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse. Heat crept up her neck as she noticed the wet spot on his sweater. Her fingers brushed over the damp material, and she managed a soft, “Sorry.”
Corbyn’s hand caught hers, and when she looked up, his lips quirked into a half smile, and there was something almost teasing about the way he said, “Stop apologizing, Reed. I won’t melt from a few tears.”
Despite everything, Sadie couldn’t help but laugh, the sound watery but genuine as he released her hand. Turning away, she grabbed a tissue from a nearby box, wiping at her cheeks as she said, “God, I must look a mess.”
