“But you’re meant to get over that. I took him home, and I nursed him and tended to him and did everything right… and nothing changed. Motherhood’s supposed to be this primal, fulfilling experience, yet I was just empty. Broken.”
“You were ill, Cathy. Your so-called partner should have looked after you, Morrigan take his balls.” It was just as well the wretched man was currently on another plane of existence, because Aodhan had an extensive collection of forbidden spellbooks, and at that moment he did not give a flying fuck for magical ethics. “Not abandoned you, and his own child.”
Cathy shifted under the covers. “In a way, I’m glad he did. It was the push I needed. After he left, I—well, I realized I had to get better. For Kevin’s sake. I had to be the mother he deserved. I went to the doctor and got treatment. Things got better. Eventually.”
That ‘eventually’ could have filled an entire book, he suspected. Goddesses, he wanted to touch her. To pull her close and promise that she wasn’t alone anymore, that she would never be abandoned again.
“Well.” He forced a wry, light tone. “That was certainly the distracting, meaningless conversation I intended. What a marvelous job I’ve done at making this entire situation less awkward. I’m sure you feel ever so much more relaxed now.”
To his relief, Cathy laughed—just a little, but with genuine amusement. “It’s okay.” She fell silent for a moment. “You know, I’ve never really talked about any of this before.”
“Not even with your friends? You seem close.”
“I didn’t meet them until after I was better, when I moved to the village for my new job.” She rolled to face him, though with her wrist hidden under the covers there wasn’t enough light to make out her expression. “They know my husband left, but not the real reason. Sometimes… sometimes I wanted to tell them, but I could never find the words. It’s easier in the dark, somehow.”
It was easier like this, side by side with faces hidden and warmth between them. Almost, he opened his mouth to confess his own secret. The reason he’d come to find her; the reason he’d been able to forge the link between their auras. The reason they were here, now, together.
With a gesture, he lit a wisp-light on his fingertip, searing away the intimacy of night. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to fall asleep anytime soon. Do you mind if I read for a while?”
“Of course not.” Cathy hunched down further, pulling the covers over her head. “Please, go ahead. Take as long as you need.”
He fished his current book out from the side of the mattress. As usual, he’d fallen asleep last night without bookmarking his place. He skimmed through, finding the right page… then hesitated.
“I…” He cleared his throat. “It’s a treatise on the habits of cockatrices. Hardly a riveting page-turner, but remarkably soporific. I could read out loud. If that would help.”
The tight knot of blankets loosened a fraction. “I’d like that.”
It felt strange to shape words with breath and lips rather than in his mind alone. By some strange alchemy, having her listening made him listen more closely, too. Even in the dry, stolid descriptions of hunting behavior and territorial marks, there were unexpected flashes of beauty; the turn of a sentence, the slide of syllables. He found himself wondering what it would be like to read her poetry, or one of his favorite novels.
Gradually, Cathy’s body relaxed. He kept reading at a steady, measured pace until he was certain that she was asleep, then let the wisp-light fade. Book still open on his lap, he leaned back against the wall, listening to the familiar whisper of leaves, and the softer sound of Cathy’s breath.
It was a long time before sleep claimed him.