I’d lobbed it at her. “Take your dirty things and go.”
Now, sitting on the edge of the bed brushing my hair, I find myself justifying my reasons for staying in Brandon’s bedroom aloud to Ellenor.
“I just don’t want Brandon carrying me up the staircase—and I don’t want to struggle up and down in crutches by myself.”
“The stairs are too dangerous,” Ellenor says solemnly.
“Exactly. I could fall.”
“We wouldn’t want that. And your upstairs room is the least accessible in the cottage.”
“Yes,” I breathe, glad we’re on the same page for once. “It’s easier down here, that’s all.”
“It’s pure logistics,” Ellenor agrees. “Only logical choice, really. To stay shacked up in your boyfriend’s room while he broods on the couch—”
She narrowly ducks the crutch I swing at her.
“Too slow,” she cackles, twinkling her fingers at me. “Night night.”
She trots out before I have a chance to tell her that Brandon is definitely, indisputablynotmy boyfriend.
But…
It wouldn’t be so bad if he were.
Mum kisses my forehead, reminds me to call her if I need her, and climbs the stairs.
Left alone, I lie awake in the hush she leaves behind. The room feels too still, the sheets cool against my skin, the bed far too big with just me in it. Even the usual creak of footsteps above has faded into a heavy, waiting silence.
And my thoughts drift to Brandon, like they do every night. For the thousandth time since I got back from the hospital, I think of how he flew all the way to Sydney and back, jet-lagged to oblivion, only to end up sleeping on his own couch while I take over his bedroom. It doesn’t seem fair. None of this does.
I could call out to him. He’d come. I know he would.
The thought alone quickens my pulse, a quiet rush of wanting I can finally admit to in the dark.
I don’t call him.
I won’t.
I’ve already taken so much from him—his space, his bed, his sleep. Not to mention my presence, along with my family’s, has already turned hisquiet life upside down. I’m determined not to add my restless nights to the list. Besides, he’s been endlessly generous, letting me stay down here while I’m healing.
He’s made everything easier without ever once making me feel like a burden.
He’s not just decent. He’s the very best kind of man. And I feel that more deeply than ever.
The thought warms and aches at the same time. He’s been so selfless, steadying my world even as mine was falling apart. I want to be someone who can steady his too. I’d like to try, if he gives me the chance.
For now, I can start by steadying myself.
Maybe I can start tomorrow.
Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, though it hardly feels like sleep at all.
I wake with a violent jolt. A rush of air—then the sickeningthudof impact—shatters through my mind. I gasp and claw at the sheets, heart hammering.
I’m still in bed.
I wasn’t falling at all.
