Only me.
“Have you thought more about seeing Doctor Rosario?” Alicia slides her arm around mine and walks me toward the back door.
I’d rather turn into the hall and go to my room.
Back to bed.
Back to the quiet, where no one demands I speak or act a certain way. Like grieving is frowned upon, and sadness is an emotion we’re supposed to run from. The doctors want me to get better, and the police grill me for more information about something I’m still confused about. Dr. Rosario listens—really listens—but everyone else seems to think they need to fix me. To make me smile.
“Nova, honey? I asked you?—”
“Doctor Rosario.” I step through the door and move toward the stairs, but when I stop at the top and automatically tap my shoes against the hardwood, fresh tears spring to my eyes and blur my vision. “I saw Doctor Rosario,” I murmur, pushing the words along my painfully dry throat. “Yesterday. He’s nice.”
“Oh, good!” Too loud, too positive, she leads me down the stairs to the dirt at the bottom.
Opening her car door, Alicia thinks she’s helping me in,when really, her fussing hands and flailing arm are nothing more than a nuisance.
But she wants to help, and I’m too tired to nurse her feelings if I end up hurting them.
“I’ve got it.” I reach around and grab my seatbelt. “Thank you.”
My head hasn’t stopped aching for a week. My skull, sensitive to touch since I was dragged out of my dad’s truck. There’s no blood on my neck anymore, but I have a gash behind my ear that reminds me every single day where the crimson warmth came from.
Eleven stitches and an itchy wound heal faster than my heart.Evidently.
“Edwin and the rest of the team are coming today.” Alicia climbs in on the driver’s side, her honeyed perfume wafting across and teasing my senses. In another lifetime, I might’ve smiled and complimented her on the scent. I’ve always liked her penchant for things that smell pretty.
But I don’t live in that world anymore. I don’t even exist in that lifetime.
So I hold my breath and think of engine grease instead. The scent of freshly chopped wood. Even the smell of burning rubber. I prefer those.
“Edwin closed the bank until later,” she chatters, starting the car and taking us toward town.
I could do this myself. I’dpreferto do it myself. But Edwin is like a sheepdog, bounding around his little lambs and yapping to keep us safe. And Alicia is, well, I suppose she’s the poor soul sent to escort me to my only brother’s funeral.
“He said we could go out for a drink or a meal or whatever after. If you’re up to it. I think it might be nice if you?—”
“No, thank you,” I cut in, my voice crackling with every syllable. “I have stuff to do around the house. I’m back at work tomorrow, so I want to relax tonight.”
“Which is pretty much what I told him you’d say.” She pulls one hand off the steering wheel, glancing across like she intends to place it on my arm, or my leg, or God knows, pat me on the head or something. But when my eyes fly to the steering wheel and my jaw clenches tight, she takes the hint and places it back down again.
I’m not worried about crashing. I don’t have a car PTSD thing going on.
I just don’t want her to touch me.
“Can I bring you takeout and a movie instead?” Her knuckles turn white from the pressure of her fingers gripping the wheel. “I could stay. Or leave. I could even drop the food off, knock, and run. You don’t have to see me.”
“No,” I repeat, sniffling and reaching up to swipe my nose. “But I appreciate your offer.”
“I know you want to be alone.” She brings glittering, tear-filled eyes across and stops on mine. “I’d prefer the same. But you’re out here all alone, Nov. And with Ryan’s d?—”
She can’t say it.
Ryan’s death.
Ryan is dead.
“It’s all so fresh,” she rasps. “It breaks my heart to think of you isolating yourself.”
