He cups my face, and I can’t help but lean into it.
“I’ll be back,” he says again, like he needs me to believe it.
“I know,” I whisper.
He doesn’t want to leave me behind. That much is obvious. But whatever his boss needs him to do, it must be important, because with a final look thrown my way, Dallas walks out the door.
The renewed quiet that follows feels heavier than it should. Haven and I stand there, facing each other like two strangers at the edge of the same cliff, wondering who is going to be the first one to jump.
Finally, she turns and walks down the hallway. With a flick of her fingers, she gestures for me to follow her.
And I do.
The living roomin the Heywards home is simple yet cozy. As I walk into the room with Haven, I see a big leather couch, a coffee table with a stack of books on it, and a fuzzy throw blanket folded over one of the couch’s arms.
Haven sits on the far end of the couch, tucking one knee up to her chest. Following her lead, I sit on the opposite end, hands folded in my lap because I don’t know what else to do with them.
She studies me again.
Up close, she does look… young. I still think she’s around my age, but there’s something in her eyes that makes her seem more innocent. Like how going through something traumatic can either age you or stunt you, freezing you in a version of yourself that never got to finish growing or adding lines to your face instead. Looking at Haven, I have no idea what she’s gone through, but I can see why Connor is so protective of her.
I’ve just met her, and I want to hug her close and promise that everything is going to be okay.
The way she’s watching me tells me that she feels the same.
How much does she know about me? About my accident? About my missing memories? I don’t know, but I notice how her eyes are drawn to the wedding band on my left hand. The ring I seem to have kept on even during my estrangement with my husband, and the one that tells the world that I’m still married to Julian ‘Dallas’ Collins.
I wait for her to say something.Anything. She doesn’t, though, and I feel like it’s up to me to fill the silence.
“I’m sorry,” I say at last. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to?—”
Haven’s lips part and, for a second, I think she’s going to speak. She doesn’t, though. Instead, she reaches toward the stack of books. I notice there’s a small notebook on the top, plus a pen. Grabbing them both, she flips open the notebook and starts to write.
Holding it up so I can read it, I see that it says:
Do you remember anything yet?
Welp, there’s the answer to my question. Did Haven know about my accident? Yeah. I guess so.
I shake my head.
Pursing her lips, she adds another line beneath it.
You’re lucky. I wishIcould forget.
That breaks my heart. Maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t remember what happened before I fell. That I’m missing so much time before that fateful night. I don’t remember why I agreed to separate from Dallas, or what made me fall for him in the first place, but I have a second lease at life, plus a second chance with a man who is desperate to make it work this time.
But Haven… whatever she went through, she’s obviously still dealing with it. If Connor is anything like Dallas, I doubt we’ll have that much time without him hovering—whether she glares at him or not, I get the feeling that he’ll be making his way to the living room to check on her sooner or later—but I feel a kinship with Haven that I haven’t with anyone other than Dallas since my fall.
I scoot a little closer to her. “Do you… do you want to talk about it? I mean, I totally understand if you don’t, but I’m a good listener. With the way my brain’s a sieve these days, I might not even remember come morning.”
She flashes me a thin-lipped smile, staying silent.
Message received. “Connor said you don’t talk much. That’s okay. I don’t mind the quiet, either.”
Her eyes light up. This time, she scrawls:
Connor talkstoomuch
