Page 193 of His Reckoning

I snap the book closed again and run a hand down my face.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” The words come out under my breath.

She was there. Of course she wrote that. It doesn’t mean anything.

I push off the counter and start pacing again.

The apartment feels wrong now, like everything is slightly out of place.

Everywhere I look, I see her.

Standing at the fridge. Sitting at the island with her laptop. Curled up on the couch in one of my shirts.

I stop in the middle of the room because that thought lingers a second too long.

She didn’t have to stay.

The realization hits quietly. Annoyingly and completely uninvited.

Of course she stayed. She needed a place to stay. That’s what this was. It was always temporary.

My jaw tightens again.

Then why didn’t she leave?

The question slips in before I can stop it.

I think about all the times she brought up apartments.

All the places she found. All the times I shut it down.

“You’re not moving out.”

My own voice echoes back in my head as her laugh rings loudly.

I exhale sharply.

That doesn’t mean anything.

I push the thought away and reach for something solid again.

“She stayed to finish the book.”

There it is. That makes sense. It fits. It’s clean. Simple.

My gaze drifts back to the hallway. To where the stack of books is sitting.

The sticky note from her publisher.

This is your best book yet.

My stomach twists slightly. She never said anything … not once.

I think back to every night she stayed up writing. Every time I asked what she was working on.

I lean back against the wall. Arms crossing over my chest.

She didn’t tell me what she was writing about or that she was using my personal, painful details.