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Dillon remained pragmatic. “I promised if it became too much. How can I know what is too much if I don’t even try?”
My eavesdropping had been interrupted by Jacqueline, who’d appeared behind me at the top of the stairs. Before I’d worked out an excuse for my lingering, she smiled tightly and made a noisy descent to where her girls had grown silent in the kitchen. She’d undoubtedly heard the exchange, and her opinion on Dillon’s desire to expedite her healing appeared on par with Seren’s.
A little part of me had begun to feel like I’d overstepped my bounds by recommending Dr. Monaghan—by finding someone to tell Dillon yes, there was still a chance.
But certainly, the alternative had been worse. Hadn’t it?
Christmas afternoon, after we’d opened presents and I’d neutralized my hangover with Dillon’s twice-baked Welshman’s cheese soufflé, I asked if we could go for a walk along the bay. I wanted to be alone with her—just the two of us.
“Seren said she’d be happy to drop us off. It should be quiet due to the holiday.” I’d already outlined my argument in preparation for any excuse she might make. I wanted desperately to get out of the house. To have some time together. I needed to feel like it mattered I was there. That I wasn’t just in her way.
To my surprise, she willingly agreed. I tried not to allow it to slip into my head that her resistance may have been greater if the Aquatic Center hadn’t been closed for the day.
“Where’d you have in mind?”
“Mumbles Head?” I loved the scenic views from the peninsula.
She nodded. “Alright. We can walk down to Limeslade Beach.”
I didn’t bother questioning if she felt up to tackling the coastal terrain. She was more agile on crutches than I was on my own two feet.
As hoped, the picturesque cliffside was deserted, the usual hikers home with their families.
“Take care along the edge,” Dillon warned after we’d turned off the main trail and woven our way along one of the narrow paths leading to the highest point of the headland. “It’s slippery.”
In the distance, the lighthouse atop the furthest islet blinked through the low-lying fog, heeding ships we couldn’t see.
“Would you jump in to save me?” I taunted, leaning over the ledge to look at the frigid water crashing against the rock face. I could tell she was uneasy about the height, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to get a rise out of her. To slip beneath her skin. Anything to gain her attention.
“I’d jump in after you,” her expression remained neutral as she gave an unfazed shrug. “But neither of us would survive the fall.”
“Modern-day Romeo and Juliet? Thelma and Louise?”
“You’ve been reading too much Tolstoy.”
It wasn’t an unfair assessment. I’d been cast in a contemporary retelling of Anna Karenina set to begin filming the following summer, and in preparation for the role, had filled countless travel hours poring over the Russian’s tragic prose.
“Better than the fluff of Margaret Gilles—isn’t that what you said?”
“I didn’t call it fluff.”
“But that’s what you meant, right?”
I’m not sure why I wanted to pick a fight with her so badly. I think I just needed to feel like she still saw me. To know I still mattered. With her single-minded fixation on her rehabilitation, it had become difficult to tell where I fit into her life.
“Don’t be thick,” she chided, resuming her one-legged travel along the ridge, “I called it light reading. Not everything has to be Joyce and Faulkner. You’re making something of nothing.”
Justly scolded, I watched three more signals from the lighthouse lantern before trotting to catch up.
“Dillon.” I caught her arm just as she reached the Y that split the trail’s further destinations: right, the parking lot, left, Limeslade Beach. I had to get it off my chest. “Are you still happy? With me, I mean.”
Her look of unmistakable astonishment simultaneously filled me with embarrassment and relief.
“Happy with you?” The crease of her brow deepened. “Whatever are you going on about?”
“I… I don’t know.” I tried to brush it off. It was ridiculous to have worried. Naturally her focus would be on her training. She was living under the colossal pressure of a question mark, the entire path of her future dependent on her recovery. The last thing she needed was to deal with me and my insecurities. “Come on.” I pressed my hand against her back. “Let’s go to the beach.”
“No,” she studied me a moment, and then my heart sank as she swung a few steps up the trail leading away from the water.
