Page 35 of Anything for You (Veterans of Silver Ridge #7)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Dorian

D ove went back to work Friday.

She’d been fever-free since Tuesday night, and by Thursday morning felt mostly better aside from tiredness. Her nan and I would be having a word because she’d clearly informed Dove I’d been to visit, which was not part of the deal.

Dove had seemed a touch withdrawn after Wednesday night when she’d cried and wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. Maybe there was nothing to tell—she was coming off days of feeling bad, she was unused to being taken care of or needing to be in the first place, and she tended to cry easily as it was.

Still. Thursday, she’d been closed off. Not short or dismissive, but a little more inside her head.

Less chatty, even compared to when she was sick.

Unless she was unconscious or about to slip back into sleep, she tended to be talking to me or Bear or whoever had come to visit.

Thursday, she was practically silent. She kept movies running all day and took a walk in the afternoon.

When she came back in, she mentioned she’d be working Friday.

Great news. Perfect, really, because it was time for me to get back to my life. Wasn’t it?

It was.

I hadn’t slept much, worrying as I had over her and ill-adjusted to sleeping on her couch the first two nights, then banished back to my house the second two.

It would’ve been weird for me to stay at her house after she’d moved out to the couch.

I was fairly certain she had no idea I’d slept in the living room so I could check on her through the night those first two nights, nor did she need to.

But all of this added up to an antsy, buzzing feeling under my skin that was nothing like the pleasurable hum of talking to her or touching her or kissing her.

No, this was the acrid buzz of anxiety. Bear sensed it and stuck close, leaning against me whenever he had a chance.

I worked outside and got caught up on all the things I’d let lag during the day on Friday and ended up baking until the wee hours Saturday once Dove had said she was fine but passing out to sleep after getting home at the end of the day.

It wasn’t that I’d expected anything more. I had no right to, and she was still recovering. She needed sleep.

By the time I did head to sleep on Saturday, I knew it would be a bad night.

History had taught me the lesson, and though I’d found great joy in taking care of Dove this past week, I’d failed to take care of myself the last few days.

I’d neglected the practices I knew helped keep me together, kept my memories from fracturing into shards and invading when I was most vulnerable.

And that’s exactly what happened.