Chapter 84: Sadie: Let Me In

SADIE

I leave the photographs and walk over to Trey, trying to think of something to say that isn’t Are you okay? He clearly isn’t, and making him confirm it for me feels like asking someone standing in the rain if they’re wet.

He waits until I’m beside him before meeting my eyes. "Done with your sightseeing?"

There’s nothing playful about the question and my teeth catch my bottom lip. All that time I spent reading plaques and calling him over, he’s been waiting to get away from this place.

"You could’ve told me you were uncomfortable." I come to a stop beside him, our arms almost touching. It sounds obvious now, but so does the fact that I could’ve noticed sooner. "I didn’t know, Trey."

"I’m not."

He walks away, leaving me to work out what I’m supposed to do with that answer. Apologize for noticing? Pretend I believe him? Neither feels particularly helpful, so I let out a sigh and catch up.

I wish I knew how to get him talking about what’s hurting him instead of keeping it all to himself. He had plenty to say when I was whispering about the guest wing, and I’d happily let him make fun of me again if it helped him feel better. I just wish he’d let me be here for the difficult parts, too.

A woman comes through a doorway ahead of us before I can try talking to him again. She’s pushing a cart loaded with used bedsheets, a duvet, and bottles of cleaning supplies, but she stops and bows as soon as she recognizes Trey.

"Your sheets have been changed, sir, and the room is clean."

Trey passes her without a word. I’ve been on the other side of that often enough to remember how awkward it feels, reporting what you’ve done to someone who doesn’t bother answering.

"Thank you," I offer, despite having no claim to the room or its sheets. Her small smile makes me glad I spoke, and I follow him into the room.

The size of it steals my attention before I can bring it back to Trey. There’s a king-sized bed against the far wall, its upholstered headboard rising tall behind it, and somehow it still doesn’t take up much of the room. Usually, a bed that size means making a few sacrifices, like a desk or the ability to open your wardrobe all the way. Here, it looks as though they could’ve gone bigger and still had room for more.

By the windows, a sofa and two armchairs are arranged around a low table, and a balcony beyond them overlooks the gardens. A desk, bookshelves, and a dresser line the walls without making the room feel remotely crowded. My dorm could fit the bed if we removed the desk, knocked down a wall, and persuaded whoever lived on the other side to be understanding.

I hesitate as I look at the dark green cover pulled neatly over the fresh sheets. It’s easy enough to joke about the size of the bed until I remember I’m sleeping in it with Trey tonight.

A door opens beside me, interrupting the thought, and he comes out of a walk-in closet wearing a different shirt. I didn’t notice him disappear, much less change.

The mattress dips as he sits on the edge and takes out his phone. I linger near the door, my lips forming a pout while I wonder whether to join him or leave him alone for a minute. I didn’t mean to upset him, and I’d like a chance to tell him that instead of hoping he’ll work it out himself.

Eventually, I cross the room and stop beside his knee, gently poking his shoulder when he doesn’t lift his head. His green eyes meet mine, cold and distant.

"Don’t be pissed at me."

"I’m not." He goes back to his phone, leaving me unconvinced.

"Then talk to me. You were teasing me ten minutes ago, and now I can’t even tell whether you want me here."

He stops scrolling and lifts his head, breathing out before he answers.

"I do want you here. I’m not mad at you, Sadie." His mouth opens again, but it takes him another second to continue. "I just hate people looking at her photo and reading all those lies about her. It feels wrong, and..."

A muscle moves in his jaw as he stops speaking. His grip on the phone tightens until the veins rise beneath his skin.

Slowly, I lay my hand over his. I can’t fix what happened to his mother, but I want him to know he doesn’t have to keep it all to himself.

"I can’t..."

His free arm slips around my waist and brings me to him before I can get any further. I land on his thigh, gripping his shoulder. He’s done this often enough that I’m beginning to get used to being moved around, though being this close to him still makes me forget what I meant to say.

Our eyes lock and I leave the sentence unfinished. A strand of hair has fallen over his forehead; I brush it back gently, then rest my palm against his cheek.

"You do know you can talk to me, right? About what you’re thinking, how you feel. You don’t have to hold all of it in."

He listens without interrupting, and I give a small scoff at how seriously he’s making me explain my qualifications.

"I’ve got plenty of experience with the no-mother-or-father situation, so you could do worse for emotional support." My hand stays against his cheek. "I won’t understand everything, Trey, but I want to understand what you tell me. Keeping it to yourself doesn’t mean you have to hurt any less."

He swallows, and I follow the movement of his throat before his fingers tighten at my side. His eyes stay on mine, a little less guarded now, though he still takes his time answering.

"What’s the point of talking if it doesn’t change anything?"

"You wouldn’t have to keep dealing with it on your own." I respond. "And all that stress isn’t good for your body either. Lola was telling me about how they cause autoimmune diseases. You can’t keep swallowing everything that hurts and expect it to disappear because you’ve decided not to mention it."

Leaning closer, his eyes narrows at me. "That’s for weak wolves. I’ll be fine."

I gently pat his cheek, which earns me a look I choose to ignore.

"Well, your big, strong wolf can survive a conversation about his feelings. I’m not asking you to tell everyone, Trey. Just me. Talking won’t change what happened, but maybe you won’t feel so alone with it afterward. You can let me know something hurts without having to prove you can handle it."

He looks past my shoulder, and I wait. Watching him struggle to open up makes me wonder if this is what happens to someone who grew up with no one safe to confide in.

"How am I supposed to deal with all those lies about my mother, Sadie?" He finally asks. "What do I do when I don’t even know whether I hate her?"