Page 30 of Sick(ness)

“Thanks,” she said softly. “For… knowing what to do. For making it seem like it’s not all falling apart.”

He met her gaze for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. “It’s falling apart,” he said quietly. “We’re just holding the pieces together for a while.”

Then he turned back to the fire, crouching once more to adjust the logs. The light flared, bright and warm, filling the cabin with a golden pulse of life.

Addy sat on the edge of the bed, watching him until her eyes grew heavy. Outside, the wind began to whisper through the trees, rattling faintly against the shutters, but inside, everything became still. Contained.

The doors were braced, the windows sealed, and the fire glowed steady in the hearth. The night didn’t seem threatening.

By the time he turned back toward her, the fire had burned low. Shadows stretched across the cabin walls, long and soft.

“Get some sleep,” he said quietly. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

She nodded, but as she lay down that night, listening to the wind whisper through the trees outside, Addy found her thoughts circling back to him. To the way he’d said never found time for it.

She wondered what, or who, had stolen that time from him.

* * *

Morning crept in slow and quiet. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, filling the cabin with a steady warmth that made it hard to move.

Addy blinked awake, cocooned in blankets. For a blissful moment, she forgot where she was, forgot the silence that ruled the world outside. Then she caught the faint, unmistakable scent of coffee, and her eyes shot open.

Coffee.

She sat up fast, the blanket pooling around her waist, looking toward the small kitchen area. Sawyer stood near the stove, stirring something in a dented pot, a faint curl of steam rising in front of him. The sleeves of his thermal shirt were pushed up, forearms dusted with soot. He looked completely at ease, like a man who had been living this life his whole life.

“You have coffee?” she asked, her voice scratchy from sleep.

He didn’t turn right away. “Instant. Don’t get too excited.”

She smiled, rubbing her eyes. “I could cry right now.”

“Please don’t. We can’t afford to waste water,” he said dryly, and she laughed, an actual laugh, the sound strange in the stillness.

He gestured to the table where a bowl of steaming water sat beside a rag and a bar of soap. “Hot water, if you want to wash up.”

Addy blinked at him, genuinely taken aback. “You… heated water? For me?”

“For both of us,” he corrected. “But yeah. Figured it might help you feel somewhat human again.”

Human. The word hit her harder than she expected. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, and took the bowl into the small bathroom. The air was cool against her bare skin as she undressed, the first touch of the hot rag against her face making her sigh. She washed slowly, methodically, neck, arms, chest, stomach, between her legs, each pass of the rag washing away some of the grime, exhaustion, and fear.

When she looked in the cracked mirror, her reflection startled her. There were dark circles under her eyes and a hollowness to her cheeks, but she looked alive. Still here. Still trying.

A soft tap came at the door. “Coffee’s ready,” Sawyer said.

“Give me a sec,” she called, quickly pulling on her clothes. When she opened the door, he was standing there with a steaming tin mug, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

“Thanks,” she said, wrapping her hands around the mug. “You have no idea how good this smells.”

“I do, actually,” he said, moving back toward the stove. “It’s the only thing that’s kept me halfway sane.”

She followed him to the table, where two bowls of oatmeal waited. “You really know how to spoil a girl,” she teased, taking a seat.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. “Don’t get used to it. Supplies don’t exactly restock themselves.”

They ate in companionable silence for a while, the cabin filled with the small, homely sounds of spoons clinking and the occasional pop of the fire. Outside, the light was sharpening to gold, spilling across the lake and the frost-tipped grass.