Page 39 of Bound Lives
Alive. But not whole.
Not without her.
“So, Henry…”
Here it comes.
“This thing. With Tabitha.”
“There’s no thing,” I say more sharply than I mean to.
She crosses her arms, her eyes narrowed. “Then why the big deal about having Mom call her?”
“What does it matter?” I scoff. “Mom said Tabitha’s not coming. Some big, can’t-miss opportunity at med school.”
Sage exhales, tilting her head. “Yeah. I heard.”
“It’s some kind of seminar,” I say, forcing nonchalance I don’t feel. “She’s a big-shot surgeon in the making. She can’t be bothered with me, and I can’t blame her after how I treated her.”
“You sound bitter.”
I look away. “I’m not.”
She raises a brow. “You are.”
I rake a hand through my hair and wince when my stitches pull. “She deserves her chance. She’s worked for it. I told her once we had no future, and she believed me. That’s on me.”
Sage studies me with her dark eyes that miss nothing. “What the hell happened between you two?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
She sighs, continues to pet Zach. “She’s a nice girl, Henry. Intelligent. Beautiful. And she fits in with this bunch. You could do a lot worse.”
Before I can reply, the door creaks again, and Mom slips in with a tray holding stew, biscuits, and iced tea sweating in a mason jar. She sets it on the nightstand like I’m a kid again, down with the flu.
“Mom, I’m allowed to leave the room to eat, you know.”
“I know. But I like taking care of you.” She smiles. “Besides, you’re too thin. This way I know you’re getting your meals.”
“I’ve been eating.”
“Not enough.” She fusses with the blanket at my feet. “Your color’s better, though.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She smiles faintly and glances at Sage. “Don’t stay too long. He needs rest.”
“I’m not made of glass,” I mutter.
“No,” Mom says, her eyes soft but fierce. “You’re made of stubbornness. Which is worse.”
Sage snorts. “Can’t argue with that.” She rises. “Eat your stew. Try not to mope too hard. And for the love of God, call Tabitha when you’re ready to stop being an idiot.”
She slips out before I can reply.
Mom lingers, smoothing the blanket at my feet. “Henry,” she says softly, “I know you think pushing people away will protect them. But it doesn’t. It just leaves you alone.” She kisses my forehead and leaves.
Her words cut deep because they’re true.
