“You’re not sleeping on the dock.” He slips past me, heading for the bed. “Why not? I like nature.” Taking my chance, I move to the door and lock it. “Hey—” I turn around, pressing my back against the locked door. Teddy stands across the shed, the bed’s quilt bundled in his arms. “You can’t keep me trapped in here, you psycho.” “I can, and I will.” “Henrik—” “You’re not sleeping on a goddamn deck chair, exposed to the elements. Not when we have a perfectly good bed, and a fire, and a door that locks.”
