Chapter 10 #2
Corbyn climbed slowly, and that brief moment of hurt on Sadie’s face before she masked it played in his mind over and over again.
He’d have to face her again at lunch. Sit across from her at the table and pretend that nothing had happened while the weight of his outburst hung between them.
At some point, he would have to find a way to apologize for his behavior, although his wounded pride bristled at the very idea.
He rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and stopped short.
Edie stood there, arms crossed over her flour-dusted apron, her small frame somehow blocking the entire space between the stairs and the kitchen.
She wore an expression on her face that he hadn’t seen since he was fifteen and got caught sneaking alcohol out to the greenhouse to drink with his friends.
“Sadie just bolted out of here like the house was on fire,” Edie said without preamble, her voice low and hard, the gentle lilt of her accent sharpened by disapproval. “Face white as a sheet. What did you do?”
Corbyn moved past her, slumping onto a bar stool at the kitchen island.
His body suddenly became too heavy for his legs to hold upright as shame washed over him.
He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there, a reminder of how long it had been since he’d made himself presentable.
“She caught me half-stripped,” he muttered, the words grinding like gravel. “Told her to get out.”
Edie’s stare bore into him, steady and unyielding. Her eyes, a warm brown that usually held a maternal twinkle, were now flat and hard. She said nothing, just waited, the silence that stretched between them worse than her yelling.
Riley trotted back around the island, sensing the tension. The dog paused halfway between them, head swiveling, before settling on the floor with a heavy sigh that seemed to express the weariness of dealing with humans more eloquently than words.
“What?” Corbyn growled, uncomfortable under Edie’s scrutiny.
“You’ve told her to get out before, and it didn’t send her running,” Edie replied, continuing to stare at him in that way that told him she was just waiting for him to admit to what she already knew.
“I… snapped,” he admitted grudgingly. “I said things I shouldn’t… but she shouldn’t have come down to the pool.”
“She went down there because I sent her,” Edie replied, her voice clipped. “To tell you lunch was ready. Not to be barked at like some trespasser.”
Corbyn shifted on the stool, pain flaring in his lower back.
“She saw everything,” he said, gesturing vaguely at his chest, the words coming out more defensive than he intended. “All of it.”
“And?” Edie’s eyebrow rose, a perfect arch of skepticism. “Did she run screaming? Point and laugh? What exactly did she do that warranted you sending her off like that?”
The question hung in the air, uncomfortable and pointed.
Corbyn glared at the floor, unwilling to admit that Sadie had done none of those things.
She’d simply looked at him. There had been surprise, but without the reflexive disgust he’d grown accustomed to seeing, without the careful pity that somehow hurt worse.
“She stared,” he said finally, the accusation sounding weak even to his ears.
“For about two seconds, I’d wager,” Edie countered, unmoved. “You have scars. There’s no getting around that fact. A moment of being surprised is natural, and knowing that girl, that’s all it was.”
Corbyn’s jaw tightened. Edie had been with him through everything, the accident, the surgeries, the long, brutal months of recovery when the pain had been his constant companion.
She’d changed bandages without flinching, helped him dress when his hands wouldn’t cooperate, and seen the worst of his physical and emotional wounds.
She had earned the right to her bluntness, but that didn’t make it easier to swallow.
“It’s not that simple,” he said, hating the defensiveness in his voice.
“It never is with you,” Edie replied, but some hardness had left her tone. She moved closer, uncrossing her arms, her expression softening into something more familiar.
“Corbyn, she isn’t here to gawk at or pity you. She’s here for your book, and you’ve just treated her like she committed some terrible crime by doing exactly what I asked her to do.”
As was usually the case, Edie was correct about everything.
After the initial moment of shock at taking in the extent of his scars, Sadie had simply gone back to looking at him as she always did, steady and unflinching, like he wasn’t some broken thing to gawk at, and he’d acted like a bloody jackass.
“What exactly do you expect me to do?” he asked, his voice unable to hide the edge. “Chase after her? Beg her to come back?”
“I expect you to act like the man I helped raise,” Edie replied evenly, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “The one who understood the difference between pride and foolishness.”
“This isn’t about pride,” he shot back.
“Isn’t it?” Edie’s eyebrow arched perfectly. “Tell me, then. What is it about?”
Corbyn opened his mouth, then closed it again.
The truth was too raw, too close to the surface.
The humiliation of being caught exposed had shattered the fragile trust he’d just begun to place in her.
In his usual self-destructive way, he had shoved the only person to truly understand how to get him past his mental blocks right out the door.
“She’s probably halfway to London by now,” he grumbled, not answering the question.
“Nonsense,” Edie replied. “The Roaring Stag is her home here. She’d at least have to go pack her things, and you know Maggie would try to talk her out of leaving first.” She wiped her hands on her apron, fixing him with another hard look.
“The question is, are you going to sit here, or are you going to get off your stubborn arse and do the right thing?”
Riley whined softly, chiming in. His massive head nudged Corbyn’s hand, seeking reassurance.
“And what if she doesn’t want to see me?” Corbyn asked, voice dropping lower. “After what I said…”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried,” Edie said simply. “That book needs her, Corbyn.” She turned back to her cooking, adding over her shoulder, “First time in years I’ve heard you argue about something you care about instead of just shutting down.”
The silence stretched between them, and Corbyn felt the weight of Edie’s words settle. His outburst in the pool hadn’t just been about Sadie seeing his scars. It was the fact that she saw past his carefully curated persona, and that scared him more than he cared to admit.
“You made your point,” he grumbled, not wanting to admit she was right, even though she clearly was. “I’ll go talk to her.”
Edie’s face softened a bit, and she responded, “Good. But for heaven’s sake, go change first. You smell like a bucket of bleach, and those clothes are damp.” She gestured to his rumpled appearance, continuing, “Not exactly the picture of contrition, are you?”
Despite himself, a flicker of something almost like amusement tugged at Corbyn’s lips.
“Wouldn’t want to add insult to injury.”
“Exactly,” Edie said, turning back to her cooking with renewed vigor. “Clean shirt, proper shoes. Maybe even run a comb through that bird’s nest you call hair.”
Corbyn pushed himself to his feet, Riley immediately at his side. The dog looked up at him with those soulful eyes, as if understanding the importance of the mission.
“Best do as she says,” he muttered to the hound. “A lifetime of nagging has perfected her technique. No man or beast stands a chance.”
“I heard that,” Edie called, not turning around.
As Corbyn headed for the stairs, he felt a knot settle in his stomach. He had no idea what he would say to Sadie when he found her; his pride would only let him go so far. He couldn’t let her leave like this, though; the book deserved better from him. She deserved better from him.