“You don’t have early-onset dementia.”
“It could explain why I don’t remember Aunt Estelle.”
Ethan sits on the couch next to me and takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because she cast a spell and blocked certain parts out.”
“You do know how crazy that sounds, right? Having something wrong with my brain is more believable.”
“Anora,” he says, his deep voice rattling right through me. “There is nothing wrong with your brain. You’re stressed, adjusting to living in a new place away from everyone you know, and you’re now living with me. That is a lot, but there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he presses, setting his glass down and taking me in his arms. “And if there is, you know I’ll still be here.”
“I love you,” I tell him, relenting to his embrace.
“I love you, too.” He kisses me. “I was just about to feed the horses and close up the barn for the night. Want to come with me and tell me everything I’m doing wrong?” He flashes a cheeky grin.
“I wouldn’t pass up that chance.”
“You okay?”
Ethan’s deep voice fills the kitchen, and I turn, looking away from my plastic basket full of medications.
“Yeah. This should help.” I hold up a bottle of Benadryl and give it a shake. “I just want to sleep tonight.”
Ethan’s brows furrow but he nods. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“I’m tired,” I reply, already thinking of ways to show Ethan just how much I appreciate him. He hasn’t left my side since I got home from the graveyard. We showered and got dressed together. He heated up ramen noodles for dinner, and we’ve been sitting on the couch together ever since, watching made-for-TV movies that aren’t the least bit scary.
I snuck into the kitchen to drug myself while he was in the bathroom, and my heart skipped a beat in fear by the mere thought of going to bed and falling victim to…to whatever happened to me.
“All right,” Ethan says, closing his fingers around mine. I let my eyes fall shut for a moment, leaning against him, and then jerk awake, terrified for some reason that he’s not really there.
He’s here. He’s real. I love him and he loves me.
I shake two little pink pills into my hand and pop them in my mouth, going to the sink to get a drink of water. Knowing I have about a half-hour until the medication hits me, I take Ethan’s hand and go upstairs. I play with Romeo for a bit and then go into our bathroom. I’ve already changed into PJs and took my makeup off. All that’s left is brushing my teeth. I do that silently and then get into bed, resting my head against Ethan’s muscular chest.
“Ethan?” I say, feeling the pull of the drugs already.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” I run my fingers up his arm, tracing the outline of a tattoo on his bicep.
“For what, babe?”
“For being there for me.”
“Anora,” he starts and pulls me closer. “Of fucking course I’ll be there for you. I love you. I’m here. No matter what,” he repeats, and my heart swells in my chest.
“I love you,” I mutter again, lulled to sleep much earlier than I expected by the Benadryl. I stay locked in Ethan’s embrace for a while longer, and then we both fall asleep. I wake only when my alarm goes off in the morning. I hit my phone, silencing the alarm. It’s my turn to get up and take care of the herd, I think? I honestly don’t remember. All I know is right now I don’t want to do anything.
But the alarm goes off again, and I peel myself away from Ethan, forcing myself up and into the barn to give everyone hay and grain. I let the two horses and their friends into the pasture and go back inside, grumbling to Hunter about how he stayed inside, safe and warm, while I took my cold butt out to the barn.
Ethan is still asleep, and I fall asleep within half an hour of crawling back into bed. He puts his arms around me, and we both go back to sleep. I wake roughly three hours later, alone in bed. Hunter is in his dog bed, having gotten too hot with me. I can hear Ethan in the kitchen. He’s making breakfast and taking to someone on the phone.
I can’t make out the words, but there are only a few people Ethan will talk to on the phone like this. Creeping forward, I listen to him speak to his father for a beat, but Ethan doesn’t say anything at all to make his father think anything out of the ordinary was going on.
Hunter runs forward first, greeting Ethan for a good minute before I come down the stairs. Ethan made French toast with bacon on the side. Everything feels normal, but the weight of whatever happened last night hangs heavy over us both.