Chapter 19 #2
“Fuck!” He rises, rubs a hand over his face, and paces away from the hearth. “You slept with him. Had a one-nighter. Damn it, Tabitha!”
I drop my jaw.
I had no idea that’s where his mind would go, but as I think about it, after what I said, it makes perfect sense.
I stand, hands on my hips. “I did not have a one-nighter!”
“Great. A two-nighter, then. Or are you in a relationship? You certainly moved on quickly.”
“Jesus, Henry, I just told you that Lance is not the reason I didn’t come to the hospital.”
“Of course he’s not.” He pounds on his chest. “I’m the reason. You feel nothing for me. Nothing at all. You don’t give a shit whether I live or die!”
I step toward him. “Do you even hear yourself right now? I didn’t come because you said we had no future, because your mom said you were going to be okay, and because of the seminar, damn it! The seminar that is an opportunity I couldn’t pass up for my future.”
He huffs, crossing his arms over his puffed-out chest. “So this is the real thing for you, then. You and this Lance.”
“Oh my God…” I shake my head. “I told you I did something stupid that night. I didn’t say I fucked anyone. And I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I still don’t want to be with anyone.”
Except you.
The words don’t come out.
“You want to know the stupid thing I did?” I take another step toward him.
“I couldn’t get you out of my head. I was trying to read my advanced assignments for class the next day, but my mind couldn’t focus.
So I went out for a walk.” I take a deep breath in, steady myself.
“It was after dark, and Boulder is usually safe, but I kept walking and found myself in a neighborhood that was unusually dark, and…” I choke back a sob.
His face softens. “Tabitha—”
I gesture him to stop. “Let me finish. You want honesty? Here it is. Some guy stopped me. Scared the shit out of me. Tried to attack me. And Lance…” I sniffle.
“Lance rescued me that night. He happened to be out, and he saw the guy trying to assault me. He stopped him. Then he walked me to the police station where I filed a report, and he drove me home.”
I’m panting now, and I go to the couch and sit down. Zach walks up to me and shoves his head under my fingertips.
“Good boy,” I say softly, wiping a tear from my cheek.
Henry walks toward the couch. “God, Tabitha. I’m so sorry. I’m… Fuck.”
“He saved my life,” I say. “Or at least saved me from a rape and a beating. Or being robbed. Or all three.”
“So he was just checking up on you,” Henry says, his tone sounding like he’s trying to convince himself.
Shit. Honesty. What the hell? I’m all in now. “Yes…and no.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he asks, though his tone isn’t too accusing.
I draw in another deep breath. “It means he’s been asking me out for coffee. But I haven’t gone.”
Henry inhales. Exhales. Inhales again. Says nothing.
Until—
“I’m sorry. Did the cops find the guy who attacked you? As much as I hate the idea of taking another human life, I’ll make an exception for that fucker.”
My heart nearly breaks for him then. He’s still struggling. And then the accident at his place, the surgery, the healing.
I pat the cushion next to me on the couch. “Sit,” I say, as if I’m talking to Zach.
He does, which both surprises me and doesn’t.
“He’s a nice guy, obviously, and he helped you,” Henry says. “Why haven’t you gone for coffee with him?”
“Because I don’t want him.” The truth snaps out and sits there.
“Is he—”
“For God’s sake, Henry, he’s a great guy. He’s nice, good-looking, successful. A knight in shining armor rescuing a damsel in distress. A perfect match for me. And I don’t fucking want him.”
A smile edges onto his lips.
“You wanted honesty,” I say. “There it is. Bare bones. Warts and all. A perfect man fell into my lap, saved my life, and I don’t want him.”
Does he get the subtext? Henry’s a smart man. But also a bullheaded one.
We look at each other until my heart stumbles and a giant yawn splits my face.
“You’re falling asleep sitting up,” he says. “Why don’t you go on back to bed?”
“I’m not tired.” Lie. “And I don’t want—”
“You need a room with a door.” He looks down the hallway. “One you can lock. It’ll help.”
“With what?”
“With us not doing something stupid.”
“Like what?” My tone turns lighter than I feel.
He furrows his brow. “I think you know what.”
We stare again. We could do this all night.
Maybe I want to do something stupid. But maybe Henry isn’t ready. Maybe he’s not supposed to have sex. Doctor’s orders. Though if he can drive…
“Are you going to bed?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “Zach and I are going to sleep out here. On the couch.”
“With the fire…”
“Yeah. The storm really cooled the weather, and we need the fire for light, so…”
“I’ll stay too.”
He eyes the couch. “There isn’t room.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor.” What am I thinking?
I’m not sure, except that I don’t want to be alone in a strange house with no power and a storm still rattling the walls. I’m shaken up after telling the story of the attack. I really haven’t dealt with it. I’ve shoved it onto the back burner along with Henry so I can get through the seminar.
And I want…
I want…
“On the floor?” he says.
“On the floor.”
It’s a terrible idea. We both know it. He stands, disappears into a hall closet, comes back with two big blankets and a pillow. He spreads one blanket near the hearth and tosses the pillow to me.
He glances at the couch.
Then at the blanket near the hearth.
Then at me.
He says nothing, simply walks back to the hall closet and returns with another blanket and pillow. For him. For the couch.
Except he lays the pillow down on the blanket spread on the floor. “You take the couch,” he says.
“No.”
“I insist.”
“I insist.”
My sister, Sam, and I used to sleep by the hearth every Christmas Eve when we were little, hoping we could catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. We never did.
I could tell Henry this story. Say I like sleeping by the hearth. That I prefer it to the couch.
I don’t.
“I guess we’re at an impasse, then,” he says.
We lie down like children at a sleepover. Henry pulls the second blanket over us. The fire snaps. The storm rages.
He’s close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. Not touching. Not quite. If I turned my wrist two degrees, I could skim the back of his hand with my knuckles.
“Tabitha?” he says into the dark.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For telling you we had no future like it was fact. For making you think things that weren’t true.”
My throat tightens. “I accept your apology.”
The storm shifts a note lower.
“When I asked for you,” he says, quieter. “It wasn’t just the drugs talking. It was me.”
I bite my lip. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
I know because Angie told me that Henry said he was going to drive to Boulder for me. Before the accident.
Should I tell him I know?
If only I’d known that when Marjorie asked me to come…
We go quiet. I close my eyes because watching him not touch me is worse than not seeing him at all.
His hand moves a fraction. His knuckles find the edge of my blanket. It’s nothing. It’s everything. My skin prickles.
I shift, inching a breath closer to his heat, his shoulder, the line of his jaw in profile.
I could leave. I could go back down the hall and lie in an unfamiliar bed.
I don’t.
He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t speak. He breathes out slowly. Almost unnaturally slowly, as if he’s trying to calm himself.
I don’t leave the room.
And I don’t fall asleep.