Chapter 23

Xander and Deborah were a surprisingly effective team.

"Yes, Grandma," Hayden said, suddenly seizing my hand and pulling me upstairs. I instinctively tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. Feeling trapped, and with Deborah still watching, I had no choice but to follow. Once we were a short distance away, I lowered my voice and snapped, "Let go!"

"If you don't want Grandma watching, just play along," Hayden whispered, unyielding.

Even without his warning, I felt that intense stare from behind, tightening my chest. I obediently continued upstairs with him.

I glanced down at his hand, slender in mine. His rosary bracelet—worn for over a decade—was gone. A wave of dizziness washed over me. How could it have broken? Did it signify something?

We reached the bedroom. As Hayden closed the door, my anxiety surged. I quickly stepped back.

"Yvonne Jackson," he called sternly, clearly sensing my apprehension.

Avoiding his gaze, I muttered, "It's just you and me. Who knows what you might do?"

"Relax. I'm not that desperate," Hayden retorted, frustrated.

"I'm glad to hear that," I said, turning to face the single bed. My heart sank. The Parker residence's bedroom was large, with a couch I could use, unlike my small sanctuary, the Rosy House, with its single bed. What was I to do? Sharing a bed with Hayden was out of the question. After a moment's thought, I turned to leave.

Hayden called out coldly, "Where are you going?"

"I'm sleeping in the guest room," I said, not looking back, reaching for the doorknob. Hayden's hand covered mine.

"Do you think you can hide that from Grandma? I don't want to end up carrying you back in here," he said coolly, a disdainful expression crossing his face.

"Carry me back!" I stopped. The words of the Parker residence's servant echoed—she'd mentioned Hayden carrying me to my room in the middle of the night. I'd dismissed it as a mistake. How could he, who disliked me so much, do such a thing? He'd once said the thought of touching my hair disgusted him. Why would he carry me now?

Hayden stiffened, turning his head awkwardly. "Why were you crying in the guest room that night? Because you had to sleep on the sofa?"

I couldn't see his eyes, so I couldn't gauge his thoughts. The question was completely unexpected. My lips twitched. "I'm not some delicate flower. I was probably sleepwalking. Since my mother passed, I often wake up disoriented."

I remembered my psychologist mentioning guilt as a possible cause of my sleepwalking. The pain unexpressed during the day often haunted my nights.

Hayden spun around, his deep eyes seeming to swallow me whole. I had once been captivated by those eyes, losing a decade to them, regretting my absence during my mother's final days. But I wouldn't let myself be drawn in again.

"About your mother, I…" Hayden began.

"It's none of your business," I interrupted, pulling away my hand. "So, one bed. What's the plan for this 'sleepover'?"

Hayden finally replied, "You take the left side, and I'll take the right."

Did he really mean we had to share a bed? I blinked, surprised. "But…"

Before I could protest, Hayden went into the bathroom. The sound of running water followed.

I stood for what felt like an eternity before sighing, accepting the inevitable. Hayden was awake; he wouldn't touch me.

I crawled into bed, hugging the far left side, pulling the covers close. I hoped I wouldn't sleepwalk tonight. I really needed to address this; it was mortifying that Hayden had witnessed my vulnerability.

The bathroom door opened. I quickly closed my eyes, feigning sleep.

A few minutes later, the mattress dipped as Hayden got in, causing me to slide back. He might look thin, but he was surprisingly heavy. I quietly edged to the side of the bed. He must have noticed; I felt his cold stare on the back of my head.

This was less awkward than our car encounter. I was tired, and my eyelids grew heavy until I fell asleep.

I dreamt—a long, overwhelmingly sad dream I couldn't recall, filled with the regret of not seeing my mother one last time. In reality, I was crying.

Meanwhile, Hayden lay awake. Used to sleeping alone, sharing a bed with a woman felt strange. To his surprise, Yvonne—who once clung to him—was curled at the edge of the bed, trying to distance herself. He thought, Back then, she'd have jumped at this closeness. Now, she's trying to put the whole bed between us. At the hospital, she hadn't even stayed to check on him. She'd left with another guy. That kid was clearly trouble, flirting with another man's wife. And Yvonne was wearing his Yosefer. The more Hayden thought about it, the angrier he became. He couldn't sleep, lying in the dark until he heard soft sobbing.

"Is she crying?" He turned to Yvonne. Her sniffles grew louder, pulling him from his frustration. Sensing something was wrong, he called out gently, "Yvonne?"