now that the crisis had passed. Self-conscious because she’d let her guard down in front of a man she’d shared a meal and a bottle of wine and not much else with.
“Don’t,” he said.
Her gaze found his.
“Don’t give yourself a hard time for letting it get to you. You’re only human. No one can be strong all the time. No one.”
“You have to be strong in recovery. No one else will do it for you.” Her voice sounded husky and thick.
“So, what? You’re not allowed to feel shit? You’re not allowed to have a bad day?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I can. Sometimes it feels as though if I stop, that’ll be it. I’ll be locked in that one place—never getting better, never moving forward, never getting back everything I had. That’s why I wanted so badly to return to work. That was my benchmark. If I could fool them all into believing I was exactly the same, then it would all be okay. I wouldn’t be different. My life wouldn’t have changed. I’d just pick up the threads I dropped a year ago. But they gave up on me. They bloody gave up on me.”
She blinked rapidly, clearly determined not to shed any more tears. He thought about the scars he’d seen on her head and arm and the stiffness in her gait and it hit him that perhaps the hardest part of surviving the kind of trauma Mackenzie had been through was accepting that life would never be the same, no matter how hard you pushed yourself or willed it otherwise.
“Would it be the end of the world if everything didn’t go back to being the way it used to be?” he asked quietly.
Maybe it hadn’t occurred to her to ask herself that question.
“What are you suggesting I do? Slip into early retirement on a disability pension and take up crocheting and lawn bowling?”
“Not at all. I’m only wondering if there isn’t another way of defining normal. That’s all.”
She stared at him. He could see her mind working, feel her sifting through her response to his challenge. Although it seemed low of him to leave her now, he knew Mackenzie well enough to understand she wouldn’t want him hanging around while she grappled with redefining who she was.
“I’m going to get out of your hair.” He stood. “Spare you any more of my amateur psychology. Such as it is.”
She rose, too, quickly collecting the crumpled tissues from the bed and stuffing them into her trouser pocket. For the first time he glanced around, taking in the decor. The wall behind the bed was a muted green, the other three walls taupe. A hazy Asian-themed print hung above the headboard. Her duvet was green, the pillows snowy-white. Some clothes were draped over an antique chair in the corner. His gaze slipped away, but not before he’d noted the delicate black lace of a bra dangling over the chair back, the cups still curved to the shape of Mackenzie’s breasts.
Feeling like a voyeur, he headed for the living room. Strudel was out cold, Mr. Smith draped across her neck. He clicked his fingers to wake her and clipped on her lead. She gave him a dark look but lumbered to her feet obediently.
Mackenzie was standing in the doorway watching him when he turned to go, her expression rueful and chagrined and awkward. “Tonight was supposed to make up for all the times I’ve been rude to you in the past few days.”
“You don’t have to make anything up to me.”
“Right. Two doors in the face, belligerence over the fence, ridiculous preciousness and now this.” She shook her head. “You must think I’m an absolute fruitcake.”
He eyed her steadily. “What makes you think I’m in a position to judge anybody?”
She gave him a quizzical look.
“Everyone’s got their own shit to shovel, Mackenzie. Believe me.”
He started forward and she stepped aside so he could pass. She followed him to the entryway.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said.
“It was my pleasure. Sorry about the entertainment.”
“As I said, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”
He turned to go, but she caught his forearm. He glanced down as she transferred her grip to his hand. Her fingers were warm as they wrapped around his.
“More importantly, thank you for your kindness.” She rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a good passer of tissues.”
She gave his fingers a small squeeze before releasing him and taking a step backward.
“Good night,” he said, because