DYLAN
Merry’s been quiet for a little over two hours. I folded the page over in the book on my lap, lifting to toss it aside.
I’d better check on her.
I trudge up the stairs, my back aching from the crazy position I’d been sitting in. My door is slightly ajar, and I push it open to find Meredith curled up on my bed, her knees tucked up to her chest as she hiccups in her sleep, which piques my interest.
Who hiccups in their sleep? Unless…
My eyes widen as I realise she’s been crying, and I feel wretched. I hope I haven’t made her cry. Walking towards her slowly, I lean down to see her cheeks streaked with makeup and tears, her lip quivering in her sleep.
Fuck.
She’s beautiful but damaged. Something hurt her, orsomeone, I think grimly, my eyes falling to her ring finger.
I don’t have time for this. I have been looking forward to blocking the world out for a few days, drinking myself to sleep, and strumming on my guitar. People find it strange that I don’t have a television, but honestly, I don’t want to know what’s going on in the world. I don’t want to be tied in twenty-four hours a day. It’s bad enough that I’m reachable on my bloody mobile.
My jaw clenches as Merry’s eyes flicker open, catching me standing in front of her like some kind of numpty.
“Are you watching me sleep?” She mumbles, her voice thick from sleep.
She pushes herself up onto her elbows before swinging her legs down to the floor. She looks guilty for sleeping in my bed, and I feel like a prize prick.
“I was just checking on you,” I admit, cursing myself inwardly. “You’ve been crying.”
Her eyes narrow as she wipes under them with the forefingers, groaning at the sight of black makeup.
“Shit,” she mutters, turning to check the pillow anxiously. “I didn’t get any on your bedding, did I?”
She sweeps her hand over the pillow, and I shake my head.
“No.”
“Must’ve had a nightmare,” Merry continues, refusing to meet my eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Couple of hours.”
“Sorry,” she mumbles again. “I’m going to need a shower and stuff. Shall we check out the pub?”
A pang of guilt strikes within my chest, yet I find myself nodding.
“It’s probably for the best,” I agree, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll give you some of my clothes so you can change.”
“Oh, you don’t have to.” She waves me off dismissively. “They’ll probably have a laundrette or something in the hotel.”
A chuckle escapes my lips then as I quirk an eyebrow at her.
“How long has it been since you went to theDuck and Cherry?” I laugh as she frowns.
“About twenty years?”
“It’s exactly the same as when you last went. No mod cons. However, they still do the infamous roast dinners, so you might find they’re booked up for Christmas.”
“The road will be open soon enough anyway.”
Our eyes simultaneously move to the window, covered by my thick curtains, and I tug it open, sighing heavily.
“It’s still coming down thick and fast, maid.”
