Chapter 8

I woke up on the third day. Not in Silvercrest. In a private clinic outside Missoula, on the top floor, with mountain light pouring dry and gold through the windows. Home light. Rhys was asleep in the chair beside me, four days of beard, hands still scabbed. My right arm was in a brace from elbow to knuckle. Both hands were wrapped. When I tried to speak, my throat came out in gravel. "Rhys." He was awake instantly. "I'm sorry," I said. "I made you come all that way. I ruined everything." He...