“Is she gonna be okay?” Samantha's voice was soft, hesitant.
She stood in the doorway of the cabin, wrapped in one of my sweaters, her hair pulled back. She looked at my closed bedroom door.
“She'll be fine,” I said instead.
Samantha didn't look convinced. “Do you want me to make her something? Tea? Soup?”
“She won't eat.”
“Decker—”
“She won't.” I turned from the window. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark. “She needs her space.”
Especially from you.
Samantha's eyes moved to the blood on my shirt. My hands then she said quietly, “You're bleeding,”
“It’s her blood.”
“Let me—”
“No.”
She flinched. I hadn't meant to snap. Especially not at her.
Samantha had done everything she could not to be a burden here. She knew Remy didn’t like her and I didn’t speak much bu
