Page 28 of The Same Backward as Forward
“TheT’s a bit angled,” Harry drawled, “but I’ll allow it.”
I rewrote the wordseaagain and stared bullets at the block-like letters. TurningEtoKwould have taken three moves. TurningEtoFtook only one, butsfawasn’t a word.
Why are you even playing?my common sense asked, but I ignored it. Kaylie hadn’t been the only Rooney with a competitive streak, and somehow, I thought she probably would have approved.
Approved, I specified silently,of me kicking this rich boy’s ass at his own game.
AtoHwas two moves.AtoV, also two. Neither of those helped me. The wheels in my mind started turning faster.AtoW—damn it, that one was three moves, which meant I couldn’t use the wordsew.AtoNwas only two, but as far as I knew,senwasn’t a word.
“Ticktock, Hannah the Same Backward as Forward.”
And that was when I saw it: the obvious solution. “You said I could move lines, take them away, oraddthem.”
Harry’s poker face was excellent, but I knew in my gut thatheknew he was beaten.
Adding anLto the end of the word only required two lines. Same for adding aT. Andseatandsealwere both words.
“Five words that aren’tsex.” Harry smirked. “I’m impressed.”
I gave him a look. “I’m not.” I stood up, then tossed down the gauntlet. “On your feet again.”
I was going to get him walking if it killed me.
Chapter 23
Around the time that Harry could take five steps unassisted, we ran out of paper. The next day, he drew a circle on the back of my hand.
“And here I thought you valued your life,” I said darkly.
“Come now, Hannah the Same Backward as Forward. You know that I don’t.” He said the words lightly, mockingly, but there was a ring of truth about them. There were times when he wasHarryto me and times when I could hearTobyin his tone, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. His memories hadn’t come back—I was certain of that—but I was also growing surer by the day that he could sense a darkness behind the veil of the blank spaces in his memory.
I couldn’t help wondering what that darkness was, what secrets had been locked away by his amnesia. I thought sometimes about the way he’d begged me to let him die. I’d done a valiant job at thwarting him. He was alive. He was getting stronger.
And he was anincrediblepain in my ass. “If you’re going to torture me, not-nurse Hannah—or worse, try to motivate me—the least you could do is let me finishthat.” He nodded to my hand.
I looked at the circle. It was perfectly drawn—impossibly so. “Do I even want to know what you’re drawing?” I asked.
Harry smiled, one of those smug,one of us is winning this and it isn’t yousmiles of his. “I don’t know, lügnerin. Do you?”
I wasn’t positive what language he’d just used, but I knew damn well what he’d said, and he was right: Iwasa liar. Every day, I came here and pretended that he hadn’t killed my sister. Some days, I could almost believe it.
“One hour,” I told him, my tone making clear that my terms weren’t up for negotiation. “One full hour of grueling rehab. That’s what you’re going to give me if I let you finish your little drawing.”
“You’re going to work me hard.” The edge ofthatsmile pulled up slightly on one side.
“I hate you and want you out of my life,” I replied. “Do we have a deal?”
He reached for my hand. “You know we do.”
At the very top of the circle—from my perspective—he drew aW. The touch of the pen was light against my skin. The brush of his hand against mine as he wrote was anything but.
I hate you, I thought, as he moved on to write another letter.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
