“It wouldn’t hurt her to have somebody next to her,” says Nolan.
Maddox’s eyes go wide and he looks at me. “You should do it,” he says. “She’d be more comfortable.”
My mouth drops open. It’s not that I’m unwilling. It’s not that I wouldn’t do anything to help Charlie live.
It’s just that I don’t deserve to be anywhere close to her. Charlie shouldn’t have to wake up in the arms of the person who might be responsible for her death.
Nolan glances at me, watching me fumble for my words. He must read my mind, or at least understand that I have some reason for not wanting to be the one to warm her, because he says, “Wendy needs rest. Besides, she’s cold herself. She’ll hardly be able to warm Charlie up when she needs warming herself. I’m sure Charlie won’t hold it against you if you explain once she wakes up.”
“Yes, well, then you don’t know the same Charlie I do,” says Maddox. He swallows and rounds the other side of the bed,lifting the quilt and sinking in next to Charlie, wrapping his arms around her and pulling the covers over both of them. Charlie doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond. Maddox must notice, because he swallows again, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against her cheek.
“You need to sit down,” says Nolan.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s speaking to me. I let him lead me over to the rocking chair in the corner, but when he goes to set me in it, I let out a whimper.
“I can’t sit in that,” I say.
Nolan looks confused. Then, when he glances back down at the rocker, realization dawns on his face. He takes me by the hand and instead leads me into the living area, placing me on the couch. I expect him to leave me there—perhaps find a quilt, wrap it over me, and abandon me to sleep—but he doesn’t. He just kneels down on the floor next to the couch and places his hand on my chest, closing his eyes like he’s counting my breaths, as if somehow, they anchor him in place.
He doesn’t touch my belly. I can’t blame him. There’s a gaping absence there. One neither of us can bear to address.
“You must be so angry with me,” I say. “If you need to leave—I know what I said earlier—but if you need to leave, I would understand.”
His eyes flick up to me, staring at me from beneath his long black lashes. “We agreed, Darling. I’m not leaving you again.”
“But you are angry.”
He stares at me, mouth open for a moment. “There are too many feelings swarming about me for me to put them into words,” he finally says. “But I do know one thing: I have no desire to leave your side ever again. I can’t—” He stops himself.
“You’ll change your mind though,” I say. “Once the shock wears off. Once you realize what I’ve done.”
Nolan looks at me, and there is an intensity in his eyes. It’s the anger I’ve been waiting for.
“Darling, don’t ever say anything like that again?—”
“And if you need space?—”
“No,” Nolan snaps. “I can’t imagine—” He stops, swallowing. “I can’t be alone right now,” he says, his entire body trembling. “I need…Ineedyou right now. And I apologize, because I know you need me. But I can’t…”
I put my hand out and place it on his, squeezing it. He nods. The words remain unspoken, but they don’t need to be uttered to be understood.
“I couldn’t protect him,” Nolan says after a few minutes of silence. “When I found out you were carrying our child—I knew from that moment what I would do. I had prepared myself to be a slave to the Sister once more. To lose you. To lose myself. I had accepted that eventuality. But this…”
He trails off, unable to find the words, but I understand. The gaping void in my heart is all too familiar, all too similar to the concept he can’t speak aloud.
“It doesn’t feel real,” I say.
He shakes his head, gaze far off. “No. No, not at all.”
“I’m not even crying,” I say. “Shouldn’t I be crying?”
Nolan glances at me and opens his mouth as if to say something, but just then, there’s a frantic knock at the door.
“The healer,” I say.
Nolan snaps back to reality, squeezes my shoulder, and stands, hurrying to the door. A sense of urgency seems to overtake him again now that he remembers Charlie’s dire state.
When he opens the door, a feeble-looking man with reddened cheeks waddles through, a satchel thrown over his shoulder. He’s huffing, but there’s a determined look about him.
