Chapter 9: Release

I woke at 5:51 with his arm across my stomach and his breath in my hair.

The rain had stopped.

Gray light came in around the blind and lay on the black boot at the foot of the bed, and for one second I let myself be happy.

Then I remembered the date.

I was his assistant for eight weeks, I thought. Technically I was working.

"You're thinking," Henrik said into my neck.

"I'm not."

"I can hear it." His arm tightened. "Stop. It's too early."

"I have to make your breakfast."

"Make it later."

"It's in the contract."

He opened one eye.

"There's no contract," he said, and kissed my shoulder, and I forgot every one of my objections for about twenty minutes.

By eight I was showered, dressed, and in his kitchen frying eggs with a hockey player's T-shirt on over my leggings.

Two of his roommates came down the stairs in shorts, looked at me, looked at each other, and walked back up.

"Did we just see...?"

"Shh."

I put my face in my hands.

Henrik came down on his crutches ten minutes later, dressed, with wet hair, and sat at the table without looking at me.

Something was wrong.

I put a plate in front of him.

"Thank you," he said, to the eggs.

"What?"

"I'm going to see Prescott this morning."

"About the Showcase?"

"About you."

My fork stopped.

"Your sentence," he said. "It's over. I'm going to tell him it's done."

I put the fork down.

"It's been ten days."

"It's been long enough. You've done what I asked."

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