I Don't Come Back to My Alpha Again novel · Chapter 22 of 24

Chapter 22: Sundays

I sat down on the step beside him.

Not too close.

"Coffee?" I said.

"I'm sixteen."

"That's not a no."

"It's a no." He turned the paper over in his hands. "Rhoda gave me coffee yesterday. I didn't sleep till three."

"Rhoda's coffee could strip paint."

"That's what she said. She said it like it was a good thing."

We sat there.

The lake was flat and silver below the house. A heron was standing in the shallows on one leg.

"I wrote something," Tobin said.

"I see that."

"Rhoda made me. Well, she didn't make me. She said if I wanted to say sorry, I should know exactly what for, or it's just noise." He swallowed. "So I wrote it all down. Everything I said. Since you came out. And before."

"You don't have to read it to me."

"Yes, I do."

He unfolded the paper.

His handwriting was terrible. It always had been.

He took a breath.

He read the stairs first, and what he'd said there, and I let him.

Then the stone, and the door he'd shut on it.

Then the cave. He didn't dress any of it up.

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