Page 80 of Beyond the Cottage

“I’mfine,” she said, suddenly alert. “I can get there by myself.”

When he released her, she took two overly precise steps. The third one sent her reeling toward a sideboard. Ansel caught her from behind before she collided with it.

“Let me help you,” he said. “Your room’s not far.”

Her fingers dug into his arm, and she craned her neck back to look at him. “I have to pee.”

He sighed into her hair. “Alright. I’ll walk you there.”

Adjusting his hold on her waist, he led her the short distance to the bathroom. He nudged the door open with his foot, turned on the light, and propped her against the vanity. Her hair skimmed the porcelain sink when she lowered her head.

“Got it from here?”

Her head shot up. “Got it.”

Ansel shut the door and waited. Ten seconds later, he heard a crash and a thud, and he burst in.

A crack bisected the shower door, and Gretta sat on the floor, legs sprawled. Heart pounding, he scanned for blood but didn’t see any. He slipped a hand between her head and the tiled wall.

As he checked her scalp, he waited for Philip to burst in at the commotion. His door remained blessedly shut.

“Are you okay?” Ansel asked.

Clutching his forearm, she gave him a wobbly nod. Her teeth tugged her bottom lip. Two tears spilled down her cheeks.

She shook her head.

With a curse, he reached in and pulled her from the shower, and she nestled herself in his lap. His legs were uncomfortably bunched, and the vanity handle dug into his spine, but when her arms circled his neck, he didn’t want to be anywhere else ever again. Like the night before, he didn’t understand this shift in her demeanor, but he wouldn’t risk breaking the spell by addressing it. Whatever she needed from him, it was hers.

He rubbed her back as she trembled.

“I thought Nat was my friend,” she said against his neck. “I don’t have any friends.”

He squeezed her. “That isn’t true. I can tell Brand cares for you a great deal. I imagine many others do, as well.”

“They don’t. I’m a very difficult person.”

“Easy people are dull.”

They sat in silence, and he continued petting her back until the tension in it eased. She shifted to face him.

“Ansel,” she whispered. “Are you really still my friend?”

“Always,” he said, brushing hair off her forehead.

She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. “I missed you so much.”

His heart stuttered. Could that possibly be true? Based on her reaction to their previous conversation, it was likely the alcohol talking. Still, hope bloomed in his chest. He tucked her head under his chin and fiercely hugged her back.

“My life’s a mess,” she said.

“It’s not. Philip and the senator can fuck themselves.” She’d get a new job, and he’d find some other investor.

“Itis. I feel broken, Anse. Like the cottage did something to me. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Fresh rage for the Eater coursed through his veins. He wished he’d been the one to kill her.

“You aren’t broken,” he said firmly. “You have emotional scars that will never fully disappear, but they made you resilient and independent. They gave you the courage to make your own way in the world.”

---