Page 101 of Words We Didn't Say

“Almost.”

My body left Eden’s apartment, but my mind stayed stuck there all morning. She occupied every thought. I thought about her when I drove back to my apartment. When I showered and dressed for work. When I stopped for a coffee, and she wasn’t with me.

Zach

Love you. Can’t wait to see you tonight. xo

Little dots flashed. Eden typed a message…that never arrived.

Something was very wrong.

Robotic, I plodded through every mouse click, every signature, every email.

I’d screwed up again. I knew it. What did I do wrong? Was she leaving me? Like last time?

When another text message went unanswered, I dialled the salon.

“Sweetie, Eden’s not here,” Yvette said. “She called in sick this morning. I’m literally trying to reschedule all her—”

Panic shot me out of the chair. Away from my desk. Out of my office.

Sue’s heels clicked after me down the corridor, and her shout for me to come back echoed as the elevator doors closed.

Eden’s front door crackedopen.

Rumpled chocolate hair poked through the gap. Pink blotches coloured her cheeks, matching the tip of her nose. My heart cracked. She’d been crying long before my frenzied knocks scared the wits out of her.

“Let me in, Denny Dee.”

And not just through the door. I needed her to unlock the spot where she kept all her secrets from me.

The door inched open enough for me to squeeze inside.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” I hugged Eden’s stiff body against my chest. “I would’ve stayed if I knew you were sick. I can take care of you. Can I get you something? Should I call a doctor?”

She waved off the concern and shuffled through the living room, heading for the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?” she asked, her voice empty without her usual sparkle. “I can make you a coffee. I have some of those fancy pods you like.”

I frowned. I didn’t want a bloody coffee. “I want to talk about what’s going on.”

Eden kept her distance on the other side of the kitchen, an arm hugged tight around her middle, her tank top riding up to show her fingers pinching into the skin of her belly. Her wary glance pinned me as she fussed with a jar on the kitchen counter. I pressed my palm over the lid. I didn’t care about the stupid coffee pods.

“Stop.” My command was soft. I wanted her attention on me, not avoiding me.

She froze.

“We’re getting better at talking.” My throat bobbed painfully on a dry swallow. “But, Eden, please don’t make me jump through the hoops of some bonus round trying to figure out what I did wrong. Just tell me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“So, you’re sick?” I touched her forehead with the back of my hand. She wasn’t hot. “Really sick?” I tipped up her chin with my finger. She closed her eyes to avoid my gaze. “Eden?”

Nothing.

Locking a sigh of frustration behind flattened lips, I dropped my hand from her chin, running a soothing touch down her shoulder to her arm. Her face screwed up. A wince. She fought to shutter her expression, but I’d seen it. My heart plunged to my feet when I saw the bruises—deep crimson spots tinged with indigo—dotted on her arm.

I ghosted a hand over the violent marks. Perfectly spaced…just like my fingers. “What happened to your arm, Eden?”

“N-Nothing.”

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