Cora’s eyes widen.
“Great,” I say. “Those flannel baths haven’t been cutting it.”
“I can tell,” Dr. Frederick says while wafting his hand over his nose. When I go to protest, he says, “Only kidding. But yes, baths are acceptable, as long as you keep your cast wrapped and dry. Other than that, we’ll see you in a week.” Dr. Frederick stands and pats me gently on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky one, Pike Greyson. Not sure I’ve seen someone survive a motorcycle accident like the one you were in. Take care.”
And then he takes off, shutting the door behind him.
When I look at Cora, I find her leaning against the wall, hands behind her back, staring at the ground.
“Are you ready?” I ask her.
She glances up at me and quietly nods. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
Together, we head down the hallway of the doctor’s office, schedule another appointment to get my wounds checked again, and then head out to the front of the building. Beyond the windows and glass doors, the wind has picked up, gusts of snow blowing around in the air.
“Here, let me help you with your jacket,” Cora says. She takes her time, unfolding it from her grasp and then guiding my arms into the arm holes. Then, she steps in front of me and zips up my coat. I reach out and place my hand on her cheek.
When her eyes connect with mine, I say, “I meant everything I said, Coraline. Every bloody word. You’re the love of my life, and if I have to spend all the years I have on this earth proving that to you, then I will.”
Her eyes gloss over with tears and I can’t tell if she’s happy, sad . . . indifferent.
I can’t seem to place her feelings like I used to. I’m not conditioned to this version of her. I know when she’s angry, when she’s acting stubborn, when she’s utterly in love or in a euphoric state. But this docile woman standing in front of me has me at a loss.
“We should get going,” she finally says before putting on her winter hat and opening the door to the wintery tundra.
Chapter Twenty-Six
CORA
Stella: How did the doctor’s appointment go? Any closer to freedom?
Cora: He touched me.
Greer: Who touched you?
Stella: The doctor touched you?
Cora: No, Pike touched me.
Stella: How? Where? You can’t just say he touched you and not give us details.
Greer: She’s right. What’s happening over there?
Cora: On the leg, and then stroked my inner thigh with his thumb while we were at the doctor’s office.
Stella: Did you like it?
Cora: Of course I did. I didn’t even flinch. Instead, I melted into my seat and enjoyed it. I should NOT be enjoying his touch.
Greer: Well, I mean, it might not be such a bad thing . . .
Cora: He told me he’s emphatically in love with me.
Stella: WHAT?
Greer: Uh . . . you should’ve led with that news. A touch is a touch, but him saying he loves you . . . emphatically? That’s a whole other ballgame.
Stella: Agreed. That’s just . . . wow! What did you say?
Cora: The doctor walked in.
Stella: For the love of God.
Greer: What would you have said if he hadn’t?
Cora: Probably would’ve continued to tell him to stop, to not say things like that.
Greer: Would you have meant it?
Cora: That’s the scary part. I don’t think I would have.
His words have not stopped ringing through my head.
He wants to touch me.
Hold me.
Prove to me how happy he can make me.
His words are on constant replay, drowning out any other thoughts that I might have.
I feel frustrated.
Annoyed.
Confused.
But most of all, I feel sick to my stomach, because in the back of my head, I know I love him too. I love him more than anything. The love I harbor for this man is lightyears ahead of the way I ever felt about Keenan, and I know it’s because he sees me for who I am. Despite what his dad said to me, I know he loves me for who I am. And he’s never wanted to change me.
But those feelings don’t negate the fact that he lied to me. That he broke my trust. And that he made me feel used.
“Thank you . . . for today,” he says from where he stands at my doorframe, startling me. I didn’t even hear him hobble up the stairs.
“You shouldn’t climb the stairs, Pike.”
“It was the only way I knew I could talk to you.”
I look away, because staring into those deep, tantalizing eyes is too difficult. With every gaze, they pull me in, they force my body to beg, to plead, for one more touch. But my heart is screaming no. The hollowness in my chest is imploring that I don’t reach out, because the heartache is too great.