Is August involved with another woman at this retreat?
Pain stabs at my chest but I start to move.
I don’t think, I just walk, each step taking me closer to the building where the sound is coming from. Glancing at the map, I can see it’s where August is located—or where his phone is located, at least.
It only takes a few minutes before I’m standing outside the door to the outbuilding. The repetitive noise has stopped but the low light is still glowing inside. I debate whether or not to call out first, but that would give time for him to potentially cover up whatever he’s doing, so instead, I wrap my palm around the ice cold handle and push.
Then my mouth falls open in surprise.
Kneeling down in the center of an otherwise empty room is August, dressed in gray sweatpants and nothing else. Beside him is another man laid out on the floor, blood pouring from a gash above his eye.
I lift my lids back to August to find him staring at me with a shocked, almost guilty look on his face. Dropping my gaze to his fingers I see a needle and thread in one hand and a bloody cloth in the other.
“What’s going on?” My voice shakes.
August looks down at the man on the ground then back to me. “He’s been in a fight. I’m patching him up.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.”
“Who is he?”
There’s a long pause. “An associate.”
I step into the building and let the door close. Folding my arms, I regard him with narrowed eyes.
“How did you know he was out here?”
August returns to sewing up the man’s gash. “He called me.” Without looking up, he continues. “What are you doing out here?”
“I woke up and found you gone. I was… worried.”
He glances sideways as he pulls the thread through the man’s flesh. “You don’t need to be worried about me. I can look after myself.”
I’m convinced something has changed since our conversation this morning. First, he’s away in an extended meeting, then he’s late coming back to our room, and now he’s sneaking around in the middle of the night and stitching up some random guy in an outbuilding.
Something has changed and I hate that he’s being secretive about it. I hate that it’s not my place to know.
“Fine,” I snap. “I won’t bother again.”
I turn and yank the door open, his voice making me pause.
“Where are you going?”
I stare out at the dark woodland, my hand curling around the door handle.
“Back to the room.”
“Wait for me outside. I don’t want you walking around out there alone.”
I’m incensed. How can he boss me around when he’s kept me at arm’s length all day and is being cagey about why he’s out here with a badly injured man?
“Tough shit,” I say, in a low, level voice. “I’m going.”
The door swings shut as I walk away. There’s a lot he’s keeping from me, I can tell, and I’m sick to the back teeth of men keeping shit from me.
I stomp back through the woodland, not caring if I’m making a sound with my exasperated huffs and tramping feet.
