I went to the bathroom and turned on the bathtub taps. On the rim were small bottles bearing the hotel’s logo, including bubble bath. I undressed and showered briefly to rinse off—I had no desire to stew in the grime of the last few days—then tipped the lavender-scented liquid into the tub.
I slid into the warm bathwater. The bubbles prickled at my skin, and I felt my icy limbs thaw and warm up slowly, my muscles relaxing. I was permanently tense on the streets, always alert to danger. It was exhausting. But here in this beautiful apartment, submerged in warm water and unafraid, my tension melted away.
I began to cry.
At first it was just a single tear, but it soon became an unstoppable flood. I didn’t usually let myself cry—tears made you seem weak—but here, in this moment, I’d allow it.
I was safe.
I was unhurt.
I was alone.
For a brief moment, it was OK not to be Kate but Kaitlynn. A version of myself I would have been in another life, one in which I had a family. Friends. A little money. In which I had dreams that didn’t shatter on the hard asphalt of reality as soon as I dared to hope.
Kate was tough, unfazed, confident.
Kaitlynn, on the other hand, was simply afraid.
13
This storm is intense. Send me a message when you’re home from the restaurant.
Message from Henry to Logan
Henry
I finished showering long before Kate was done. As I waited, I stowed away the sports bag I’d taken bouldering the day before and took Kate’s dirty blankets down to the hotel laundry. They were wet and caked in mud. I returned and waited for Kate to emerge from the guest room. Thelockedguest room. I’d heard the click of the key right after I’d left. I didn’t mind her locking it—the room was hers for the night, after all, and she could do as she pleased. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d been through to make her so tense and cautious. She said she trusted me, but her body language told a different story.
Half an hour later, I finally heard movement from the guest room, and I knew Kate had finished her bath. I retrieved a frying pan from the cupboard and got to work in the kitchen. I hadn’t thought it was possible, but the storm had grown even worse in the last few minutes. The rain beat almost horizontally againstthe windows, and the wind whistled through every little crack. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed directly overhead, as if a portal to the underworld had opened up and was ready to devour London.
“I hate storms,” I suddenly heard Kate say.
I looked up from the frying pan and froze at the sight of her in the doorway, dressed in my clothes. She was wearing my old high school rugby team hoodie, which was now far too small for me. I’d kept it purely for sentimental reasons. On Kate, however, it was too big, and the trousers looked ready to slip from her narrow hips. She had the build of someone who was naturally slender, yet she still looked underweight. Unsurprising, given her circumstances.
She approached cautiously and perched on a barstool at the kitchen island. Her towel-dried hair was dishevelled, and a delicate blush coloured her cheeks. My chest tightened. Kate was utterly enchanting. I, on the other hand, was an insensitive arsehole... I couldn’t help but think how her hair would be even more dishevelled and her cheeks even rosier if she spent the night in my bed instead of the guest room.
Kate craned her neck to squint at the frying pan. I had sautéed tofu, peppers, and onions before adding Himalayan black salt and soy yoghurt. On the plate next to the cooker, I’d arranged toast with vegan cream cheese and grapes. Kate looked at me, her surprise evident. “You cooked for me?”
“Isn’t it a bit of a stretch to refer to making toast as cooking?” I asked, ladling the golden scrambled egg substitute onto the plate. Kate watched me with wide eyes, and I saw that they were slightly dull, as if she had been crying.
“I thought you’d order something from the kitchen.”
I frowned. “Would you prefer to have something else?”
“No! It’s just that...” She hesitated and bit her lower lip, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should voice what was on her mind. She stopped biting her lip and met my eyes. “I don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get?”
“You,” she said, uncertainly. “I don’t get you.”
“I’m not that complicated.”
“You are. You don’t make any sense.” She frowned and watched me so intently, it felt as though her gaze had cut through my skin and bones, baring my soul. “Why the hell are you so nice to me?”
“Because...” I began, but I wasn’t sure how to end the sentence. The truth was that I didn’t know either. I liked Kate, and I liked even more how normal I felt around her. Maybe I was just trying to prove I was a better person than my dad, even if helping Kate was only a drop in the ocean.
She sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. You should know I have nothing to give you, even though I am grateful. I can’t even pay you back. The money is all gone. I used it to settle some debt.”
