Page 185 of Ex Somnis

The edges of my vision turn hot and red, the way they did exactly once before, over a voicemail I was never supposed to hear.

I cross the distance faster than I knew I could move, grab Simon’s shoulder, and yank. He lets go out of pure shock, given how his face contorts with it, stumbling half a step, and that’s all the opening I need.

I knee him directly in the balls with everything I’ve got. “No means no,” I yell while he folds in half with a sound like a dying accordion. “You disrespectful walnut!”

Sydney is looking at me like a deer in the headlights, so I grab her wrist and pull her with me. “Hurry.”

I have no idea what Simon will do when he’s done clutching his balls.

We round the corner with Simon still groaning somewhere behind us and walk directly into Mabel.

“What happened?” Mabel’s eyes go straight from me to Sydney’s face, and whatever she sees there has her setting the basket of clothes down she was holding without a second thought.

Sydney bursts into tears and throws both arms around her, and Mabel folds her in like she’s done this a hundred times before.

“What happened?” Mabel asks again, but this time, sharper and directed at me.

“Simon doesn’t know what no means,” I explain, still breathing hard, still feeling freaking furious. “I’d strongly suggest you fire him.”

“Simon Laurin?”

“I have no idea what his last name is.” I gesture vaguely back toward the building, toward the sound of him still groaning somewhere. “Your reception guy.”

Mabel nods once, and the expression on her face isn’t one of surprise. “I’ll take care of him.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Ridge

Seven times.

I’ve used the new stairlift seven times so far.

Not because I needed to, but because it exists.

The thing about accessibility is that when something works properly, you stop noticing it. You stop planning around it. Stop calculating angles, distances, and whether getting somewhere is worth the effort.

You just go.

After the seventh trip, I took a shower. Showering here is, against every instinct I have about admitting Paul Bennett has ever done anything right, actually enjoyable. Big bathroom. Grab bars that don’t look like grab bars, and a bench that doesn’t make me feel like a piece of medical equipment being hosed down. It’s clearly designed with an actual person in mind instead of a liability checklist, and I refuse to examine too closely what that says about how much he’s been thinking about me.

And now that I have access to the upper floors, I counted Paul’s houseplants because I could.

Ninety-eight.

I genuinely believe they’re reproducing when nobody is looking. Somehow, that is an easier concept to process than whatever the fuck just happened at the inn.

Nevan and Paul are currently upstairs, doing a therapy session, and Lennon offered to come keep me company since I’m already in bed and settled for the night.

So here we are. Me, propped against the headboard, her stretched out beside me in cute yellow pajamas, e-reader balanced on her knees, scrolling at a pace that suggests deep personal suffering.

I already clocked what she’s reading, because it’s the same garbage I was reading the night she fell asleep on me. Such a bad plot.

I lean over and tap her screen. “Spoiler alert, he gets amnesia in chapter twenty-two and forgets he loves her.”

“Ridge!” She clutches the e-reader to her chest and glowers at me.

“I’m protecting you.”