Page 70 of Oathbreaker

“H, we’re going to get on the other side of all this. Misha’s wife is coming through the trials well, last I heard. He will help us. We’ll get rid of them. Then you’ll finally be free—free to be with Winter and August and live for the first time in your life.”

With a humorless chuckle, I say, “When did you turn into Dr. Phil?”

He gives me a significant look.

“H, here’s what it looks like,” he begins. “It looks like you’re rejecting her, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, she’s starting to get better.” Leo’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. He came into the diner after Winter collapsed in my arms, and he was the only person to witness my utter devastation and Winter’s wrecked body. I shielded her from the view of anyone else, and she didn’t leave my arms until we hit the emergency room.

“She’s been playing with August, and I heard her laughing with him the other day. Laughing a lot.”

I clear my throat, hoping to ease the tightness.

“My point is, if you don’t pull your head out of your ass, you’re going to lose her when she comes fully out of the fog.”

I jolt, rejecting the idea. She can’t leave me. She won’t. If she tried to, I’d?—

I inhale, calming my racing heart.

Control yourself.

“All of us will need to get together to talk about Buck and his non-information,” I say. Leo ignores my attempt to change the subject by maintaining his silence.

I clear my throat.

“I’m not rejecting her,” I say through the restriction.

“Well, actions speak louder than words, H.”

We’re quiet for the rest of the drive.

After showering and stuffing my face with a turkey sandwich, I complete my nightly ritual of walking past Winter’s room to smell her rose scent.

I pause when I arrive at her door, only to find it open and Winter not sleeping inside. Moving into her room, I glance inside her bathroom to see it empty as well.

I try to swallow down the panic. She’s in the house. Somewhere. She’s in the house.

She’s safe.

Inhaling to calm myself and grab her scent into my lungs, I pull my phone out of my flannel pants and search through the cameras in the house.

She’s not in the kitchen, plus I was just there.

She’s not in the living room, game room, or sitting room either.

When I scroll over to view the cameras in the media room, my eyes zero in on Winter’s hair piled high on the top of her head in a messy bun and sticking out from the mountain of covers she’s under.

There’s a bowl of popcorn and what looks like a half-wrapped Hershey’s bar on the massive sofa in front of her. Kitty sleeps on his back with his feet up in the air.

She’s safe. I can go to sleep now.

But instead of turning to head to my bedroom, I go in the opposite direction, stopping at the media room.

I crack the door open slightly to peek in. Her eyes are fixed on the massive projector screen as she watches that one kids’ movie about the rat in Paris.

The animated rodent bounces around on the screen, and Winter watches the scene as if she’s going to be tested on her recall of the movie.

I clear my throat to not startle her, but she jumps anyway.

The popcorn topples over, spilling on the floor.

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