Chapter 18
-Sadie-
Sadie paused at the heavy oak door, drawing in a deep breath.
Professionalism demanded she push through her exhaustion.
Corbyn was making such good progress, and she wouldn’t let a sleepless night derail their momentum.
She’d learned long ago, especially with Nate, that admitting weakness only invited judgment or dismissal. This was no different.
“Just another day,” she murmured, pushing the door open. “Morning,” she called, her voice deliberately bright.
Corbyn sat at his desk, shoulders hunched over her tablet as he wrote. His dark brows were pinched together in concentration as the stylus moved across the screen. Riley was sprawled at his feet, and his tail gave a slow, sleepy thump at Sadie’s entrance.
“Look who’s still getting use out of that tablet,” she said, unable to keep the satisfaction from her voice despite her exhaustion. She had hoped he might take to it when she’d left it with him after their session two days ago.
Corbyn glanced up, a hint of self-consciousness crossing his features before he schooled his expression, conceding, “Technology has its uses.” He handed her the tablet so she could review what he had been writing, a little smirk tugging at his lips.
“Though, I maintain that pen and paper are far superior.”
“Still, a stunning admission from technology’s greatest critic,” Sadie teased, earning a huff that might have been the start of a chuckle.
They exchanged amused glances before she took her usual seat.
She was shocked when she looked down at the screen and saw an entirely new chapter based on a conversation they had engaged in the previous day.
A small, genuine smile spread across her face as she realized he wasn’t just humoring her, but making real strides with the novel’s progress.
“I’m impressed,” she said. “You’ve been busy.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he responded with a shrug. “Thought I might as well be productive.”
Riley pushed himself up from the floor, padding over to say hello to Sadie properly.
She scratched behind his ears before he sprawled at her feet as they settled in for the day.
The rain drummed steadily against the windowpanes, the sound easing the tension building behind her eyes.
They passed the tablet back and forth for the next hour, discussing plot points and character motivations.
Gone was the adversarial tension of their early sessions. Corbyn still pushed back on specific suggestions, but now he didn’t take issue with explaining his reasoning.
The morning slipped past and Sadie tried to ignore the steadily increasing pressure behind her eyes.
She’d suffered migraines since college, stress-triggered monsters that occasionally knocked her out for days, but she couldn’t afford to succumb today, not with so many people counting on her to help him get this book across the finish line.
Around midday, the clouds fully parted as the rain finally ended, sending a shaft of bright sunlight slicing through the study windows.
The sudden glare hit Sadie’s eyes, sending a spike of pain through her skull.
She couldn’t stop her flinch, nor the sharp breath she took as she turned away from the window.
“Reed?” Corbyn called, although his voice seemed to come from far away. “You alright?”
“Fine,” she managed, but even she could hear the edge in her tone. “Just the sun in my eyes.”
Corbyn said nothing, but she could feel his gaze lingering on her.
Sadie forced herself to focus on the screen to avoid his eyes, though the words were becoming hazy, blurring at the edges.
The symptoms were all too familiar: sensitivity to light, the low throb at her temples gradually intensifying, and faint nausea curling in her stomach.
She tried to push through, but her mind started tripping over details.
When she read the same paragraph three times without absorbing its meaning, she knew there was no use denying it any longer.
Eventually, she lowered the tablet to her lap, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes briefly.
She tried to breathe through the pain, feeling as if a vise were squeezing her head.
Corbyn’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, and when she forced herself to look at him, his eyes were fixed on her. She had seen so many of his expressions over the last few weeks, but the concern that was etched on his face was new.
“What’s wrong?” he coaxed, and she closed her eyes for another moment, trying to push down the guilt she felt for putting them in this position.
“Nothing. Just tired.” She straightened, trying to project alertness she didn’t feel. “Let’s continue with…”
A particularly vicious throb of pain made her wince visibly, and she was forced to turn her head away from the windows and the sunlight that was currently streaming through them.
“That’s more than just tired,” Corbyn said, voice surprisingly gentle. “What’s happening?”
She hesitated as another wave of guilt washed over her, realizing she couldn’t push through and instead was letting him down. She admitted softly, unable to meet his eyes, “It’s a migraine. I’ll be fine.”
Corbyn’s eyebrows drew together, and she braced herself for his irritation that the rest of the day would be wasted. Instead, he rose from his chair, his voice soft when he asked, “How bad?”
The simple question, asked without skepticism, caught her off guard, and her grip on the tablet loosened.
“I’ve worked through worse,” she said, though another stab of pain immediately made a liar of her.
“That’s not what I asked,” he insisted. Corbyn moved to the windows, drawing the heavy curtains closed. The room dimmed, and the sudden lack of light eased the pain enough for her to sink back into the chair. “Does light make it worse?”
Sadie blinked at him, surprised by both his actions and his knowledge.
“Yes,” she said, finally looking up at him. “And sound, eventually.”
Corbyn nodded as if confirming a theory before explaining, “Edie gets them occasionally. Bad ones. Lays her out for days sometimes.”
He stepped toward his desk and turned off the lamp, leaving only the softer fireplace light illuminating the room. Riley’s head came to rest in her lap as if sensing her discomfort.
“You should have said something sooner,” Corbyn continued, but his tone lacked its usual gruffness.
“We have work to do,” Sadie protested weakly. “The deadline…”
“Will still be there tomorrow.” He cut her off with a dismissive wave. “Why are you so exhausted anyway? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
The direct question and momentary relief from pain caused Sadie’s usual boundaries to waver.
“I was up late finishing a freelance project,” she admitted, rubbing her temples and enjoying the momentary reprieve from the pain.
“You’re taking on extra work? While handling my book?” he challenged, brow furrowing as he watched her from across the way.
Sadie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose once more as the pain throbbed from the spike in her stress level before she replied, “I’m just saving up for a new laptop.”
“What happened to your old one?”
The question hung in the air, seemingly innocent but weighted with things she wasn’t ready to unpack. Sadie hesitated. This topic was so far outside the realm of a professional relationship. It wasn’t even something she had really shared with anyone other than Jess.
“Nate… my ex… he smashed it against the wall during an argument,” she told him, her voice low. “I had suggested he look for a steady job to help pay rent, since his writing career had stalled.”
The silence that followed was thick with tension.
Sadie kept her gaze fixed on the tablet in her lap, unwilling to see pity on Corbyn’s face.
It had been bad enough watching Jess flounder for words when she found out.
When Corbyn finally spoke, though, his voice contained a tightly controlled anger that surprised her.
“He destroyed your computer? Deliberately?”
Sadie nodded, a slight movement that sent fresh pain radiating through her skull. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she once again was faced with admitting how bad things had been and how she had stayed despite so many warning signs.
“Not his finest moment. Or mine for pushing when I knew he was in one of his moods,” she confessed with an attempt at a shrug. Downplaying was one thing she had mastered over the years.
“There’s no excuse for that,” Corbyn said, the words clipped as if trying to maintain his composure. “None.”
The vehemence in his tone made her look up, wincing at the movement.
His expression went cold, blue eyes blazing with an intensity that should have scared her.
However, this wasn’t anger directed at her, but on her behalf.
It was protective rather than threatening, and she couldn’t ignore the fact that it gave her a sense of security she had not felt in a very long time.
“It’s in the past,” she said softly. “I’m not with him anymore, that’s all that matters.”
Corbyn held her gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he nodded once, sharply, as if coming to a decision.
“Go lie down on the sofa,” he told her, continuing to surprise her with the sudden gentleness of his tone. “I’ll be right back.”
Before Sadie could protest, he was already striding toward the door, Riley trotting after him.
The suggestion made sense; the sofa would be more comfortable than her chair.
The fact that he had clearly been concerned with her comfort warmed her chest, and she carefully stood.
Stretching out on the soft cushions, she closed her eyes.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when footsteps announced Corbyn’s return. She forced her eyes open to find him standing before her with a tray of supplies: a glass of water, what appeared to be medication, and a folded cloth.
“Edie keeps a pharmacy in the kitchen,” he explained, setting the items on the coffee table. “Says these work best for her migraines. Ibuprofen, I think, but stronger than the regular kind.”
Sadie accepted the pills gratefully, washing them down with cool water. “Thank you,” she said, the simple words inadequate for the rush of gratitude she felt. “You didn’t have to…”
“Don’t,” Corbyn cut her off, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Just… close your eyes.”
He unfurled the cloth, which turned out to be a cold compress. With surprising gentleness, he pressed it to her forehead. The sudden coolness was a blessed relief against the pain, and she closed her eyes, unable to stop the quiet sound of contentment that escaped her.
“It’s Edie’s trick,” Corbyn muttered, sounding almost embarrassed. “Hold it there. It helps, apparently.”
Sadie complied, keeping the compress in place as Corbyn moved around the room, adjusting things to maximize her comfort. He stirred the fire to a lower flame, and even retrieved a soft throw blanket from a cabinet, draping it carefully over her legs.
“Is that… alright?” he asked, hovering above her with uncharacteristic uncertainty.
“Perfect,” she murmured, the simple comfort nearly overwhelming in her vulnerable state. “Thank you, Corbyn.”
The tenderness of these actions, so at odds with his usual brusque demeanor, brought a lump to Sadie’s throat. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared for her this way—certainly not Nate, who’d treated her migraines as inconvenient interruptions to his needs.
“You should rest,” Corbyn said, still hovering awkwardly beside the sofa. “I can work quietly at my desk. Or leave if you prefer silence.”
“No, stay,” Sadie said quickly, unable to stop the blush that formed on her cheeks when she realized how desperate she must sound. “I don’t want to run you out of your study… and the company is nice.”
Corbyn nodded. “I’ll just do some writing then. I don’t need the light on with the tablet to work.”
“Another point for technology,” Sadie quipped softly. “I’m keeping a tally, you know. Soon, you’ll be setting up Riley’s social media account. ‘Adventures of a Literary Hound.’ It’ll go viral.”
A sound escaped him then. It was a low, rusty chuckle that surprised them both. It transformed his face completely, softening the hard lines around his mouth, making him look years younger.
“Now I know the migraine’s affected your brain,” he retorted, but there was a warmth in his voice.
Sadie smiled despite her throbbing head, oddly pleased at having coaxed that rare sound from him, and she smirked, “Mark it on the calendar, Pearce. I made you laugh. Proof that miracles do happen.”
He shook his head, but that almost smile lingered.
Little by little, the medication dulled the pain, dulling its sharpness, and Sadie adjusted the compress before sinking deeper into the sofa. Riley had returned at some point and now lay on the floor beside her, his steady breathing centering her as she felt her eyes growing heavy.
“You know,” she murmured, her voice soft in the quiet room, “I half expected you to tell me to walk it off.”
Corbyn snorted from his desk, looking up from the tablet. “What kind of monster do you take me for, Reed?”
“A grumpy one,” she replied, a hint of her usual spark returning despite the pain.
“Alright, that’s enough clever remarks from you,” Corbyn said, his tone gentler than his words. “Close your eyes and rest. The medicine won’t work if you keep that brain of yours spinning.”
“Such excellent bedside manner,” she murmured with a faint smile. “Has anyone ever told you that you missed your calling as a nurse? So soothing.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Go to sleep, Reed, before I reconsider my newfound patience.”
Through half-closed eyes, she observed him at his desk.
The way he held the stylus, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrated, the occasional glance he cast in her direction when he thought she wasn’t watching.
There was a gentleness to him that he kept carefully hidden, a capacity for kindness that emerged only in these unguarded moments.
Sadie’s eyes drifted fully closed, consciousness slipping away.
The last thing she registered was the quiet rustle of Corbyn rising from his desk, his footsteps approaching the sofa. Then, the gentlest touch, fingertips lightly brushing hair from her forehead as sleep finally claimed her completely.