I stay in the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee. I want to follow her, ask what happened with her sister, try to work something out, but I don’t have room for her in my life, either. Not if I’m going back to Cedar Hill and...And what? Head the cleanup crew? I’d need to face all my demons to do that. Go back to the office the way Beau wants me to do? My priorities shifted after the accident, and what used to be important no longer is. The life I was living in Cedar Hill doesn’t appeal to me, but running my company from Old Harbor will only last for so long before I get bored with it or I frustrate Beau to the point he’ll quit. The only reason he accepted the co-CEO position was because he’d be working with me. This isn’t what he had in mind.
The coffee drips, and I lean tiredly against the counter. Even if Devyn’s obligations keep her from a relationship with me, I’m glad it wasn’t all about money. Then I would have offered to help her to keep her with me. I would have resented her for accepting it, and she would have resented me for giving it to her. She would have been obligated to me then, and I don’t want her with me that way. I want her to stay in Old Harbor because what she was feeling in my kitchen while we kissed turned into something more.
It won’t if she leaves.
I want more time.
I try to read, too, but a normally satisfying evening reading a good book isn’t as satisfying with Devyn upstairs. I’m not going to turn into a stalker, and I keep to my bedroom despite my need to simply be in her space. Ten o’clock rolls around, and I hear her shuffle through the living room to the bathroom. I imagine her getting ready for bed. I don’t poke my head out to even wish her a goodnight.
Tomorrow, near midnight, the snow will stop. The city works with me and plows the road up to the lighthouse first. They know I need to attend my doctor’s appointments, and Pete will lean on the road crew and remind them I haven’t had a grocery delivery in close to a week. I’ll be plowed out, and she’ll be on her way in twenty-four hours, forty-eight at the most.
Maybe a quick trip to Cedar Hill will be what I need to forget she’d ever been here. She wouldn’t have been here long enough for memory of her to bother me when I come back. I can’t do anything with the site in the winter, but I can assess what needs to be done and put a plan together for the cleanup that can begin at the end of March or beginning of April, depending on how spring decides to saunter into the city.
Near one in the morning, I give up on my book and walk into the kitchen for a glass of water. Through the wooden door at the top of the stairs, a muffled shout drifts over the lighthouse.
I forget the water and run across the living room and up the stairs as quickly as my hip and leg will allow me. My sweaty fingers grapple at the doorknob for precious seconds before I can twist it enough to open the door.
“No! Please don’t!” Devyn cries, and her voice is louder now as she didn’t close her bedroom door or lock it, trusting me not to hurt her.
She’s thrashing about on the bed, the comforter wrapped around her legs. Her hair is spread against the sheet, a pillow sits on the floor where she knocked it off in the midst of her struggles.
Everything I know about waking someone with a nightmare advises against what I do next. I leap onto the bed and fold her into my arms. She kicks at me as she cries, claws at me, her fingernails raking over my skin.
“Please don’t,” she sobs and her body bucks against mine. “I promise, I promise.”
“Devyn. Devyn, wake up.” I tighten my hold and pin her head between the mattress and my cheek. “You’re safe, baby. You’re safe.”
Her rigid body slightly relaxes, but she cries hot tears onto my arms as she curls her body into a fetal position, her ass snug against my dick. I bend tightly around her, but I don’t want her to feel trapped and I loosen my grip.
She smells like roses, her pajama set a soft, thin fleece. A quiet mewling comes from the back of her throat.
“Baby, you’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.” A blatant lie. I won’t be able to do anything once she leaves Old Harbor.
I lose track of how long we lie like that, her shuddering easing with every minute I hold her.
She twists in my arms and molds herself to me, her face pressed into my neck, her leg slung over my hip. “Rick,” she murmurs into my ear.
“I’m here, baby.” The endearment sounds natural, like I’ve been saying it to her for years. I push my hand up her pajama top, spread my palm over her back. Her skin is soft and warm, and she’s not wearing a bra. I want to touch her everywhere, but I only hold her and pray she never asks me to stop.