“You stayed the whole time?”
“Of course. You’d do the same for me. Besides, you might have to when this baby comes. I have no idea how that’s gonna go.”
He never assumed he’d be around for that. Figured she’d get sick of him and move on, or find a better situation once preparedto leave on her own. She’s temporary, but she’s telling him that some part of her future might include him. He can’t help but feel special about that.
His memory of the last few days is hazy. Shuffling to the bathroom now and then. Eating whatever she shoved at him. The dreams and delusions stuck harder than what happened in between.
He shoved her into some of his worst nightmares, and she just…went with it. It’s only a miracle that she isn’t looking at him like he’s pathetic.
“Did I say some weird shit?” He’s fishing to see what she’ll let him get away with. He isn’t ready to talk about most of it yet.
“Nah, not really,” she lies, taking mercy on him. “Except for the polar bear thing. That was pretty funny.”
He facepalms, and she laughs, the best sound he’s heard in a while.
“There is one thing I need to say, though,” she continues. “I pray every day that we’ll find Emma, but it’s not your sole job to fix this, okay? It’s not the only thing you’re good for. You’ve already done more for us than anyone has in a long time.”
“We’ll find her.” He rests a hand on her knee before remembering they don’t do that, but she’s quick to cover it with her own. “And thanks for dealing with me while I was seeing things.”
“Wyatt, I—”
“You could have tied me to the bed to live out my delusions alone until the fever broke.”
She huffs, “That would have been extreme. Though from the way you were talking, you seemed to assume you deserve that sort of thing. Kept saying you were lying to me…”
Fuck. The last thing he’s ready for now is a full conversation about all the truth he’s grown accustomed to omitting. Soon. Hewill tell her soon. Maybe she’ll even understand, and it won’t be nearly as big a deal as he fears.
“I don’t remember saying anything about that.” It’s the truth. He may remember his lies, but his memories over the last two days are more than muddled.
“Oh.” Her smile quickly morphs into an exhausted yawn. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Your brain was working overtime.”
“You look tired. Should get some sleep.”
“I’m fine. Do you want some tea?”
“I’ll make it. Go get in bed. I’ll bring it to you,” he tells her.
“You’re still hurt. You shouldn’t be overdoing it.”
“I can walk. My legs are numb by now. I have to move around some.”
She isn’t wrong. He’s still healing from his injuries and tired from the fever. Everything aches like he’s been hit by a train and dragged a few miles for good measure. He’ll probably spend the next day or so sleeping off this nightmare before he can do anything productive, but he can meander to the kitchen and put water on the stove well enough.
She doesn’t protest again, which only confirms how tired she is. When he brings out a cup of steaming hot tea, she’s already passed out in the chair. He wants to pick her up and put her in bed, but the sheets need washing after he’d been sweating on them. Who is he kidding? He can barely pick up the cup he’s holding with both hands.
He grabs a blanket and covers her. Tucks it around her shoulders and indulges for only a moment in how beautiful she is while she’s asleep.
Then, he rips the sheets off his bed and drops them on the floor, crawls in, and watches the sunrise cast a glow across the room.
There is no one else who would do for him what she did. Things are different now in ways he’s still processing, and he doesn’t have a clue how to handle any of it.
Chapter 9
Cleaning is the only thing that quiets the voices in her head. Not forever, but while she’s sweeping and dusting and moving various objects around, Addison’s not bogged down by emotional turmoil. All those little what-ifs hush to whispers. She welcomes the reprieve.
It’s not hard to find projects. This place needs work and lots of it. She’s also talented at finding tasks where there are none. She washes laundry in the tub and folds it into neat piles of towels that create an illusion of control over her life.
She even considers going out to the shed to rearrange junk before remembering it’s dangerous out there alone. Not worth the risk to move one lump of stuff to another corner, so she forgoes that idea.
