Page 93

I swallow hard past the lump forming in my throat, suddenly very aware that my eyes are burning. “I didn’t know what to say. I never know what to say. I just keep saying ‘I don’t know,’ like that’s helpful.”

“It’s honest.”

“It’s useless.”

“It’s better than lying.”

I laugh, but it breaks halfway through. “That’s a low bar.”

“It’s still a bar.”

I shake my head, pressing my fingers harder against my temple. “I’m supposed to fix things. That’s what I do. I plan, I organize, I…” I falter. “I make things work.”

“And this doesn’t.”

“No,” I whisper. “This doesn’t.”

The tears hit before I can stop them. One slips down, then another, like my body has decided we’re doing this now whether I’ve scheduled it or not.

I turn my head away, furious with myself, muttering unnecessarily, “I’m fine.”

Ashby's expression says he doesn't believe me for a second. "No, Laurel. You're exhausted, frightened, and carrying too much."

“I can’t find her,” I choke out. “I don’t know where she is, I don’t know what she’s running from. And Lucy…” I inhale shakily. “Lucy looks at me like I’m supposed to make it better and I don’t know how.”

The words spill out faster, messier, totally unplanned.

“I wasn’t here,” I admit, “when it mattered. When things were bad. I left, and I stayed gone, and now I’m back and everything is much worse, and I don’t…” My breath stutters. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Ashby stands, crosses the space between us, like he’s giving me time to object. He crouches in front of me, close enough that I can see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, which are the exact shade of dark green as moss.

“Look at me,” he says.

I don’t want to, but I do anyway.

“You’re here now,” he says. “That’s what matters.”

“It doesn’t fix anything.”

“No,” he agrees. “But it changes everything.”

My throat tightens again.

“You’re not alone in this,” he continues. “You don’t have to solve it by yourself.”

“I’ve always solved things by myself.”

“I know.”

“And now I can’t.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Then don’t.”

It shouldn’t be that simple, even if for once I want it to be.

My breath shudders. Another tear slips free. Before I can stop myself, I lean forward. His hand comes up, warm against my cheek, brushing the tear away with a gentleness that feels entirely at odds with the rest of him.

The house remains still around us. The refrigerator hums in the kitchen. Rain taps softly against the windows.