Page 163 of On Edge

I'll reach out when it's safe.

Laine:

I think she’s gone. I swear she’s going to be the death of us

Sage:

Laine can you come to the wedding tomorrow?

Laine:

I’ll be there with bells on

I don’t know how long I lie here…hours, maybe. Until my crying dries up and I’m just an empty, hollow shell. The numbness starts in my bones and then expands until I feel nothing. It’s light outside when the hotel room door opens. Birds are just beginning to sing as footsteps, quiet but deliberate, move through the suite.

I freeze as they come closer and pause beside the bed.

Silence, and then…

“Sage?” His voice is rough.

Troy.

He’s back. He came back to me.

Part of me wants to crawl out and confront him, demand answers about that woman, know once and for all if she’s Nell or not. And if she is, why did he lie to me? And if she’s not, who is she? But the rest of me (the coward part) wants to disappear. I’d rather not exist than have to face the truth, because the truth is going to leave scars.

I hold my breath, praying that he won’t see me and go. Goanywherebut here. But then I hear him sigh, and sense the bedding that’s draped to keep me safe, lift as he crouches down. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my breathing to even out, pretending to be asleep…playing dead, ironically.

But that doesn’t scare him off.

“Sage.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “What are you doing under here?”

I don’t respond or move. I couldn’t answer him anyway. How do you explain a childhood habit you thought you’d outgrown? The need to hide when the world gets too big? I feel him staring at my back, taking me in, the base of my neck starting to prickle.

And then—impossibly because under the bed is very small—he maneuvers his larger frame into the cramped space with me, his body pressing against mine in the darkness. Every muscle in my body wants to tense, to pull away. But I make myself stay limp, feigning sleep. Even when his arm comes around, pulling me against his chest. And the scent of him after a shower, all woodsy and clean storm, wraps around me like a safety blanket.

“I know you’re not really asleep,” he whispers. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me.”

I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady. But my heart is racing so hard, I’m sure he can feel it against his chest. Even though I want to scream at him, demand to know why he’s here when he clearly wants to be withher.

He pulls me to him and presses his lips to my damp cheeks. Then his voice cracks.

“God, Sage, I’m so sorry. I should never have done that to you…dragged you down into that fucked up horror show. I never should have done what I did to you. You deserve better than that.”

He thinks I’m upset about the barbershop.

About the blood.

About Darrow.

But I can’t bring myself to say anything. All I can do is keep pretending to be dead to the world and just let him talk, because for once, I have no words.

“I’m a monster,” he continues, his voice raw. “And you’re…you’re too good for me. Too fucking good for a twisted bastardlike me. But I can’t—“ His breath catches. “I can’t seem to let you go, even knowing I should. Even knowing you’d be better off without me.”

I can’t do this.

I should let him know I’m awake and ask him who she is. At least, put him out of his misery, even if that means walking headlong into mine. Because the sound of Troy breaking is tearing me apart. His words don’t make sense. He’s apologising for nothing because I wanted what happened between us, I craved it, clawed at it, begged for every dark thrill he gave me.