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An hour later, she’s still not here.
Where is she?
I’m running through scenario after scenario in my head. Where could she be? What if something’s happened to her again? How can I get to her? How can I save her?
She doesn’t need me.
Maybe she’s with someone.
She’s found someone better to spend her time with.
Someone who’s not a fucking useless cripple.
Then Charlie pops in as though nothing’s happened, and every drop of my anxiety morphs instantly into white-hot rage.
CHARLIE
Mark should be in PT by now, but I grab two large coffees nonetheless. It’s about four hours later than my usual arrival time when I breeze in, balancing the cups carefully. But he’s not in the rehab gym. He’s in his chair, staring out the window, and I’m too focused on not spilling coffee to catch his mood.
“Morning, Big Guy. I brought two different kinds of coffee this morning. This one –” I raise a cup with a brown sleeve “– is a medium roast with two shots of dark chocolate. I’ve had it before, and it’s pretty good. This one is your usual dark roast. Your choice.”
“Nice of you to finally get here,” he says, glowering with animosity.
Apparently, it’s going to be one of those mornings. Given the way my day started – again – I should have expected it.
I sigh inwardly and let his frostiness roll off my back, setting both cups down on the table between us. “Sorry I’m late. I texted earlier to tell you I was running behind. I needed new jeans.” His jaw muscles flex as he returns to staring fixedly out the window.
He’s pissed. I guess he didn’t see my text. I take a deep breath. Distract him.
“How was breakfast?”
No answer. I wait a full minute before I try again to lighten the mood.
“Someone must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.” I lean over to kiss his cheek and feather my fingers through his hair.
Mark childishly jerks his head away, refusing to look at me. “I didn’t sleep. But maybe you didn’t either.”
I straighten up, pretending not to notice the bite in his tone. Of course I didn’t. I woke up in a sweaty panic for the umpteenth morning in a row, and my tailbone aches from spending every night perched on carpet-covered concrete, leaning against the hotel room door. But Mark doesn’t need to know that. He’s dealing with enough as it is.
“I never sleep well in hotels,” I reply instead. “I’m sorry you didn’t either. Is your leg bothering you?”
He turns his head slightly to glare at me. “You’re bothering me.”
Icy rage ripples just beneath his words, and it’s unsettling. I keep my voice gentle, hoping to disarm him. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”
He stares out the window and ignores me.
If I were thinking clearly, I’d go for a walk to give us each time to recalibrate. Unfortunately, I’m running on fumes. I stand in uncomfortable silence for several seconds before changing the topic. “This coffee smells fantastic.” I pull the lid off the dark chocolate one and hold it out. “Want to try a sip?”
“I don’t want your goddamned coffee!” Fast as lightning, he snatches the cup from my hand and hurls it past me. I gasp as hot coffee splatters all over my clothes, the walls, and the floor.
“What the hell, Mark?” The scalding liquid soaks my top and my new jeans. I quickly pluck the wet fabric away from my chest. “Dammit,” I mutter. I grab paper towels and dampen them, wiping coffee off the walls and floor before attempting to salvage my clothes.
“Yeah. Make sure your assets are on full display.” Sarcasm oozes from his words.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? My assets are fully covered. I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie.” I give up on my coffee-stained clothes. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting like a jerk.”
He snorts. “How about what’s gotten into you? Or should I say, who’s gotten into you.”
