Page 89 of Into Pitch

“It’s nothing so dramatic.”

He doesn’t press for further words or crowd me. He just adjusts the strap over his shoulder casually. “I need you to sit with yourself while I’m gone.”

“Doesn’t really seem like I have a choice,” I mutter.

“You can fight the silence. You can break something. You can even spiral.” He murmurs and steps past me. “Or you can just choose to stay.”

The words make my chest ache as he heads for the door. My eyes following every casual step that carries him away from me.

“How long?” I repeat.

“A few days, as I said.” He states, pulling the door open.

I glare at him, not bothering to say anything at all. Because there isn’t anything to say or do that will ever change Alex’s mind once he’s made it up. That much had become clear the moment I woke up in this cabin. I just wish… fuck, I wish he would at least consult me or ask my opinion before he made these decisions for me.

He steps out the door and I breathe in the cold air that rushes past him, heavy with the forest scent of damp earth and pine. Then stand in silence as the door shuts with a soft, final click.

No keys tossed my way for a car that might be waiting. No illusions of freedom.

Just me.

Alone.

In a cabin in the woods with silence thick enough to smother me.

I drag my hands back into my hair and flop down onto the couch, dropping my head against the backrest to stare at the ceiling. Knowing that I might be pissed off with Alex, but the fucked-up part of me that is now completely under his control will remain here.

My return to the city is not a welcome one after my time in the woods.

It is full of too many people layered over one another alongside all that noise and unnecessary proximity. It’s unavoidable as I step out of my car and lock it behind me, the horn chirping twice in the morning air. Six hours of driving gives a man time to think and settle things into neat compartments though.

Sadie is exactly where I left her.

She is pissed off, sure, but she is no doubt using that pretty little head of hers to think. Hopefully that thinking is centered around how much she misses me and not around how to best murder me upon my return. Though the second would be just as entertaining to deal with should the opportunity arise.

I straighten my jacket and walk into the clinic like nothing in my world is out of place. As if my little vacation was exactly what I needed to get right back to work and nothing more.

The receptionist looks up with the same polite smile she’s given me for years. It’s a routinely predictable behavior. People are most comfortable when nothing about you changes.

“Good morning, Dr. Dormsworth.”

“Morning,” I reply easily, shrugging out of my coat. “Anything I should know about?”

Her smile tightens a fraction, giving away the disruption. “There were two detectives here earlier. They did ask if you were in.”

I nod once as I hang my coat beside the door. “And?”

“They said it was about one of your former clients. Sadie Morgan.”

Former, she says. Not missing or endangered. People tend to choose their words carefully when they don’t yet know what they’re allowed to say. Which, in this moment, works in my favor.

“I see,” I murmur. “Did they leave a card, by chance?”

She slides the crisp little white rectangle across the desk to me. I glance at it, commit the names to memory, then tuck it into my pocket.

“Thank you. If they come back, let them know I’ll make time.” I tell her. She exhales softly, relieved to hand responsibility off to someone else.

I don’t bother to stick around for further polite conversation and head down the hall to my own office. Leaving the door open as I cross the room to my desk and set my bag down beside my chair.