Page 24 of Sick(ness)

His words hung in the air between them, fragile but hopeful. Addy studied him again: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the firelight played along his jaw. He didn’t look like someone who’d given up. He looked like someone who’d been broken and rebuilt himself, anyway.

She drew her knees closer, wrapping her arms around them. “Do you really think we’ll make it through this?”

Sawyer looked at her then, and there was something fierce and unwavering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Because now it’s not just each of us on our own.”

The words caught her off guard. Warmth, different from the fire, bloomed in her chest, quiet and dangerous. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

Instead, she watched as he leaned forward and fed another log to the fire, the movement slow and deliberate. The flames surged higher, washing the room in orange light.

Her body began to relax, the exhaustion finally creeping in. She set the empty can aside and curled up on the loveseat, the soft crackle of the fire and the rhythmic sigh of the wind against the cabin lulling her toward sleep.

* * *

Addy woke quickly from drifting off. She stood up to grab a blanket from the storage closet she had found earlier. She was determined to sleep on the couch.

“That bed is big enough for two, Addy. I don’t bite, I promise,” he said with a light tone in his voice.

The couch suddenly looked a lot smaller than it had a minute ago, its thin, cushions offering little promise of comfort. Still, the idea of sharing a bed with him sent a strange mix of heat and nerves through her stomach.

Sawyer stood by the fire, his hands resting casually on his hips. The flickering light danced over the hard lines of his face, softening him just enough that she could almost forget how intimidating he looked when they’d first met. He didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable about his suggestion; his tone was practical, not flirtatious.

“Addy,” he said, nodding toward the love seat, “that thing’s older than both of us combined, and about as soft as a bag of rocks. You’ll wake up with your neck at an odd angle.”

She blinked at him, trying to come up with a retort. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly like this is a luxury suite,” she said, setting the blanket down with a soft plop.

He gave a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm. “No, it’s not. But it’s safe. And warm. And we’re both dead on our feet. That bed’s big enough to share, just barely.” He raised an eyebrow. “I promise to stay on my side.”

Addy frowned, trying to read his face. She’d seen enough of Sawyer now to know he wasn’t careless with his words. If he said something, he meant it. He didn’t seem like the type to push boundaries; if anything, he was cautious to a fault. Still, something about the offer was… vulnerable. It reminded her that, despite his confidence, he was human too. Just as tired. Just as cold.

“Fine,” she muttered after a beat, her tone more resigned than defiant. “But you’re staying on your side. And you can keep your boots on in case you need to make a quick escape.”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Deal.”

She caught the faintest glint of amusement in his dark eyes before he turned and reached for his coat. “I’ll grab some more wood,” he said. “Give you a minute to settle in.”

The door creaked open, and a burst of icy air swept through the cabin. Addy watched as he disappeared into the blue shadows outside, his silhouette briefly framed by the orange glow of the fire. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping.

When she turned toward the bed, it suddenly looked impossibly inviting. The plaid comforter was thick and faded from years of use; the sheets were rumpled but clean enough. She hesitated only a moment before peeling off her coat and boots, tugging the blanket up around her shoulders as she slid beneath it. The mattress dipped slightly, soft and warm against her aching muscles.

The crackle of the fire filled the quiet, and she let her mind drift. For once, the fear that had lived at the edges of every thought began to fade.

A few minutes later, the door opened again. Sawyer stepped back inside, shaking off snow, his hair damp and curling slightly at his temples. He set the wood near the hearth, his movements quiet and deliberate.

“Fire’s stocked for the night,” he said softly.

She nodded, too sleepy to form much of a response. He shrugged off his jacket , then sat down carefully on the opposite side of the bed, staying true to his word, on top of the covers, a good distance between them. Boots on.

The firelight played across the cabin walls, painting them in gold and shadow. Addy turned slightly, watching his face in the dim glow. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady already.

She whispered, half to herself, “You really can sleep anywhere, can’t you?”

“Years of practice,” he murmured without opening his eyes.

She smiled faintly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. The sound of another person breathing nearby wasn’t frightening; it was comforting.

Outside, the wind whistled through the trees, but inside the little cabin, the world seemed almost untouched.

Addy’s eyes fluttered shut, her last thought a quiet, reluctant one: