“I’m thriving,” I said.
I made it three more steps.
“Lean on me,” he said.
“No.”
“Zoey.”
I sighed and acquiesced. He adjusted immediately, moving his arm so my weight rested more comfortably. He slowed his pace without announcing it.
We walked in silence after that. Twice, I opened my mouth to say something. Twice, I closed it again. Nothing I had queued up felt right.
The hot tub area was dark and empty. Steam still clung to the water. Our clothes sat in a damp pile where we’d left them.
“Hold on,” I said.
He turned away without me asking him to.
I dressed quickly, wincing when I pulled my shorts over my ankle. I kept his shirt on and carried mine. Liam didn’t look at me until I said I was ready.
“Okay,” he said. “Almost there.”
We resumed our slow march. The path lights clicked on ahead of us, one by one. He watched the ground more than the buildings. I watched him watching the ground.
“Thank you,” I said, too abruptly.
“For what?”
“Everything,” I said. “The not-letting-me-die. The walking.”
“You’re welcome.”
That was all he said. No further commentary, no quips, or flourishes.
My suite came into view, and I felt a strange tug of relief mixed with disappointment I refused to examine.
I dug the room key out of my pocket and unlocked the door.
I turned to him before I could think better of it.
“Thank you,” I said again. “For a really good night.”
He nodded. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I am. Well, mostly.”
We stood there for a beat. Too long. Too quiet.
“Goodnight, Zoey,” he said.
“Goodnight, Liam.”
He turned and walked away. I watched him go. Broad shoulders. Steady stride. Not once did he look back.
I stepped inside, then closed the door and leaned against it, ankle throbbing, pulse still off rhythm.
I would never see him again.
