Yet, a sinking feeling shades me in my empty room. The chill in the air makes me shudder in my sweater.

He’s not just antsy but nervous, like he doesn’t know how to be around me.

His fifteen-minute errand takes an hour, but he seems happy on his return, unwrapping the cord and setting my phone to charge. He tells me about traffic congestion and admits getting distracted by the security section; he’s keen to upgrade Sunny’s motion-sensor lights and backdoor access points.

I nibble a dry piece of toast, fearful of my stomach again.

Finally, Ashe settles into the side chair, sipping his cold coffee.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He leans his elbows against his knees, catching my gaze. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“It’s okay,” I breathe out, relieved by his honesty. “I know this is hard on you, too.”

“It’s… so unfair.”

I risk my stomach for a long gulp of the watered-down ginger ale. “I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted…”

“So, did you.”

A lump forms in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “If this changes anything… better to tell me now. I’d understand.”

“God, no, Marnie. I love you,” he insists, grabbing my hand. “We’ll work through it, figure it out. We’re good at that, right?”

I nod, his words stirring memories of us brainstorming ways to create the complicated displays I envisioned at the market. Fishing hooks, superglue, sponges, duct tape, and stacks of pennies are only a few of the quick-fix solutions we’ve devised to make our creations happen.

I smile and say, “Yes, you’re right.”

His lips graze my fingers as he holds my hand close. “Tell me what you need.”

A little gasp escapes in a chuckle. Hearing him say that warms those frigid temps previously circulating in my room. This is the Ashe I love and need. So, I go for absolute honesty—lying in a hospital bed, it’s hard to do otherwise.

“I know this is hard. I always take care of us, take care of everything. I love that. But now, I need you to take care of me for a little while. Please.” My voice cracks in tired desperation; I rarely ask anyone for anything, even Ashe. It almost hurts being this vulnerable, like standing naked in a blizzard. “I don’t need you to be the perfect caretaker or wait on me hand and foot. But I need you. I just need you here. With me. Holding my hand.”

“I’m here. I’ll be here. Promise.”

He fiddles with my side braid, smiling, and I sigh against the pillows, relieved.

7. Marnie

CHAPTER SEVEN

Marnie