Page 80 of Devoured By You
She wore her relief on her face, and her entire body relaxed. “Probably not the best idea coming on the back of those painkillers.”
“Killjoy.” I held out my hand to her. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
She set a glass of juice on the nightstand and perched on the bed next to me, worrying her lip. “What?”
“I’m going back to work. Tomorrow. I messaged Dad and told him. And I want you to do the same.” I braced for her to tell me it was a bad idea, that I wasn’t ready, that my health and well-being should come first.
Instead, she said, “It’s funny you should say that, because I have been working these last couple of weeks.”
I raised my eyebrows. She hadn’t mentioned writing again. “You have? The devil manuscript?”
A laugh spilled out of her. “Yeah. I figured out how to fix it, though, and it’s been going really well.”
“Care to share?” I tilted my head to the right.
Her cheeks pinked, and she tucked her chin. “Not yet. Maybe never. I’m weird about my stuff until it’s ready to publish.”
“Fair enough. I’ll expect a mention, though.”
“You got it.” She leaned her head on my shoulder. “And for what my opinion is worth, I think it’s a great idea for you to return to work. You need some normalcy and routine back in your life.”
“First, your opinion always matters to me. Second, I couldn’t agree more.” I nudged up my shoulder until she lifted her head and gave me her eyes. “I’m sorry I’m so all over the place. I know it hasn’t been easy for you.”
“It’s been far harder on you. I’m not the one with a life-changing injury.”
An uncomfortable pressure settled on my chest, accompanied by a bitter taste in my mouth. My mood nose-dived again.
“At least I’m alive.”
She dredged up a heavy sigh. “Blay. I need you to stop with this self-recrimination. I’ve said it before, and I will say it as often as it needs to be said. This was not your fault. There isn’t a single scenario I can think of where you could have foreseen this and put a stop to it. And I make shit up for a living.” She flashed a quick smile, which fell as fast as it had arrived. “All you’re doing by continuing down this destructive path is making yourself feel worse. No one blames you. Hell, even the press coverage has been, on the whole, supportive. There isn’t a single journalist who’s out there pointing the finger at you.”
Yeah, only because Dad’s done a sterling job in guiding the narrative.
I breathed out through my nose, shaking my head. “I know you’re right, and sometimes I actually believe that. But then there are other times when I keep going over and over it, looking for the sliver of information I missed that would have put a stop to this entire thing. It’d only take one, and the shooter wouldn’t have gotten on board.”
“Blay.” She covered my forearm with her hand. “That way lies madness.”
“And then there’s you.”
Her brow furrowed. “What about me?”
“All this.” I gestured to myself. “Not exactly what you had planned, I’ll bet. Giving up your life to care for a cripple.”
Anger rippled across her face. She yanked her hand away as if my arm suddenly burned. “I don’t like that word, and I want you to stop using it immediately. It’s horrible and an affront to the English language. Would you use it about a stranger in the street?”
“No, of course not.”
“Precisely. Then stop using it about yourself. You lost a limb. It’s a terrible thing to have happened. Two people lost their lives, which is beyond horrific. Another is still recovering from a broken arm and collarbone. But none, I repeat, none of this is your fault.” Her voice increased in volume, her neck blotching red the angrier she got. “And as for me giving up my life, I’ve swapped a two-bedroom cottage with a leaky roof in a chilly part of Devon for a beautiful mansion in sunny Miami where I get to see you every day and write in the most amazing of surroundings. So tell me, Blay, what is it exactly I’ve given up?”
She launched to her feet, pacing and chewing on her thumbnail while flashing me the occasional frustrated glare.
“Okay, okay. I promise I won’t use it again.” I stuck out my prosthetic limb, stopping her angry stomp in its tracks. “Quit pacing and come sit beside me. And just in case you’re thinking of refusing, remember, I can take this leg off and throw it at you.” I smiled, the first one that felt truly genuine in weeks.
Jill’s lips twitched, and she shook her head. “You’re an arse.”
“It’s true.” I reached for her, taking her hand as she closed in and tugging her next to me. “I hear you, Tilly. I can’t promise that these thoughts will disappear overnight, but I’ll try my very best not to let them consume me or drag me down to that dark place where I’m hitting out at everything and everyone.” I cupped her face with both hands. “Especially you.”
“At last,” she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips over mine.