In This Moment

Chapter Twelve

They’d decided to go to the bar on the outskirts of town instead of The Tipsy Turtle in the Main Square for their night out and celebration. Along the river, the place sat under a lone yellow-tinted streetlight, and the gravel lot was a cluster of cars or trucks with seemingly no order to the parking. It was called Backwater and, well, it was definitely that. The establishment had apparently been in business for over thirty years, catering to locals.

From the outside, the building resembled a large fishing shack, and the inside didn’t do much to change Graham’s opinion. It smelled like stagnant river water and stale beer. There was no AC. Dark, worn pine throughout. Cracked white linoleum floor. A long bar on the right wall, a small stage with a dance floor in the back, and scarred tables throughout the rest of the space. Oh, and taxidermy. Weird taxidermy. Squirrels, a boar, catfish, deer, and a crocodile, all affixed to the paneled left wall. Lightbulbs with plastic green shades hung from the ceiling randomly by way of illumination. Still, it was dark, somewhat cloudy due to cigarette smoke, and loud. Really, really loud country music.

But, hey. They did karaoke on Saturdays.

If someone had told him six months ago he’d wind up in a bar like this with a bunch of southerners, and enjoying himself, to boot, Graham would’ve passed out cold in hysterics. As a rule, he tended to steer clear of places where he might need a tetanus shot before entering or where it was likely he’d get murdered walking out. Alas, here he was at a corner table with one old friend and four new ones, waiting on a basket of fried catfish and chips, and drinking warm beer. It was all Backwater served. A fish and fries basket, and one brand of beer on tap.

Rebecca had been right. He did like Aden. He was honest, laid back, and unapologetic. He’d been the last to show tonight, and had promptly parked it in a chair next to Graham, offering a firm handshake and a lopsided smile. They’d been discussing everything from their opinions on the uselessness of golf and their interest in video games to the worst movies they’d seen. He reminded Graham of an aw-shucks, more social version of Forest.

“Be right back,” Rebecca announced, rising from her seat.

She wore a tight-fitting blue shirt and jeans. He wanted to peel them off. All her layers. Watching her laugh with her friends and get chatty in a carefree manner half the night had set his heartrate into the next stratosphere. Such a great laugh. More than once, the smile had lit her baby blues, changing the whole schematic of her usually reserved expression. It had actually started back at the library and hadn’t seemed to dull since.

Scarlett rose, too, and they headed toward the bar. Probably to get refills for everybody. There was no waitress, so they’d been taking turns.

He glanced at Rebecca’s cola. She was the only one not drinking beer.

“She had to take her as-needed pain pill earlier.” Dorothy’s lips curved in an understanding smile as if she’d known what he’d been thinking. “It’s not a narcotic, but she’s not supposed to have alcohol while on it.”

Pain pill? For what? Worry sank his mood. Before he could inquire, Dorothy pressed her lips into a fine line, realization dawning in her eyes.

“She didn’t tell you?” At the shake of his head, she glanced over her shoulder toward the bar and back to him. “She has fibromyalgia. A pain disorder associated with nerves and muscle strain. It’s not my place to say anything. I should let her tell you. With you being her boss, I thought she had already.”

Aden shrugged. “It’s not a secret, either. She was diagnosed, what, five years ago?”

“Yes. She manages it pretty well.”

Graham let that fester, worry forming knots in his gut. He’d heard the term before, but he didn’t know a damn thing about it. Was it a disease or condition? Was it… “Terminal? It’s not terminal, is it? I mean, she’ll be okay, right?”

“Oh.” Dorothy straightened, placing a warm hand over his, her brows furrowed. “No, it’s not terminal. It’s not a widely understood condition, but it bears some similarities to lupus. It causes pain and fatigue. Some people have trouble sleeping while others get migraines or have digestive problems. Many experience brain fog, with difficulty focusing. Symptoms are across the map, and not everyone experiences all of them.”

Graham tried to absorb the intel, but none of that sounded good. It also didn’t seem like the Rebecca he’d met because she was what his grandmother would call a “whirling dervish.” Always on the go, helping, working, and staying active. She was sharp as a tack. She never once gave any indication she was hurting.

He scratched his jaw, his stomach a riot. “So, she’s in pain?”

Dorothy nodded, but it was Forest who spoke.

“All the time. Some days are better than others, and there’s triggers, but yeah. To hear her describe it, she always has pain to a degree.”

Damn it. Always? She was always in pain? How did she live like that? And Forest had known this, but hadn’t thought to tell Graham? Anger battled with anxiety in his head.

“Ask her about it later.” Aden finished the beer in his glass. “It sucks, big time, but she’s open about discussing it, best I can tell. Scarlett told me way back when Rebecca had been diagnosed, so I texted her out of concern. Of course, she was still up north at the time. We talked for an hour and got caught up on other stuff. It still sucks, yet I felt better after hearing her explain.”

Graham didn’t think anything would make it better. To know someone he cared about was hurting, and not be able to do a damn thing about it?

Granted, the people around this table were her friends. She’d known them her entire life. She trusted them. Graham had just popped into her orbit. But he really, really wished someone, especially Rebecca, had dropped this bomb sooner. He sure as hell wouldn’t have let her haul boxes to and from the attic space above the newsroom or climb to decorate the front window or, hell, even cut her own grass. Did she need to drop to part-time?

Someone behind the bar shouted Forest’s name.

“That’s our food.” He stood and disappeared into the crowd.

Moments later, Scarlett and Rebecca returned with a pitcher of beer. Graham shot to his feet and abruptly took the tray from her, setting it on the table.

“Thanks.” Rebecca tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, staring at him like he’d sprouted two heads. “You okay?”

“Yep.” But she wasn’t. She was in pain. Unable to sit still, he told the group he was going to help Forest, and did just that.

After a few minutes, the others dug into their fish and fries, while he stared at his basket. He wasn’t certain he could stomach food, never mind something heavily fried.

He watched her instead with freshly opened eyes. Every nuance and tick. But, no. She seemed precisely the same as always. Eating. Laughing. Carrying on conversation. Reminiscing. Sipping her cola because she’d taken a pain pill and couldn’t drink beer…

Swear to all that was holy, he might lose his shit all over the bar before he ever got the chance to talk to her alone.

“I think it’s a great idea.” Dorothy nudged her half-eaten basket aside, staring at Rebecca. “Are you ready for that, though?”

Ready for what? He’d been too focused on his thoughts to know what they’d discussed.

“I think so, yes.” Rebecca raised her arms over her head to stretch. “It’s just… I don’t know. On one hand, it’s Gammy’s house. A place of comfort. But on the other, it’s Gammy’s house and everywhere I look is a reminder she’s gone.”

“I stand by my comment.” Scarlett raised her palm. “Do some rearranging, repainting, and make it yours. You can keep mementos and personal things, but donate the rest. It really helped me after Miss Maureen died and I inherited the plantation.”

Graham frowned. “Who’s Miss Maureen?”

“My grandmother.” Scarlett rolled her eyes. “She hated the reminder of her age and insisted everyone call her by her name.”

Interesting.

Aden set his elbows on the table and leaned on them. “Loath as I am to admit it, she might be onto something, blondie. I’m free tomorrow if you want help.”

A chorus of me-too sang from the table occupants, Graham included. If he’d caught on correctly, Rebecca was uncomfortable staying at her grandmother’s house. Unable to move on, caught up in nostalgia, yet needing to cross that bridge. Grief was a terrible thing. If he could help, he’d volunteer a thousand times.

“You guys really wouldn’t mind?” Unshed tears welled in her eyes, and it was like a dagger to chest.

“Girl, please.” Scarlett flipped her long cocoa locks over her shoulder. “If it involves decorating, I’m there.”

Aden snorted.

“I don’t know jack about that, but I can wield a paintbrush.” Forest shrugged. “Or move heavy objects.”

She gave a watery laugh that twisted the knife in Graham’s ribs. “Thank you so much.”

The women discussed a sleepover at Rebecca’s tonight to get a start on cleaning out Mavis’s things and for moral support, dashing his hopes of talking to her alone later. Dorothy, Scarlett, and Aden had driven themselves to the bar. Graham had caught a ride with Forest. Perhaps…

“Would you mind giving me a lift home?”

Setting her chin in her palm, Rebecca smiled. “I don’t know. It’s out of my way going that whole extra driveway.”

Smartass. Even her sarcasm was sexy.

They divvied the tab, paid, and headed toward their cars.

Once on the road, while she followed Scarlett and Dorothy to her house, he managed to make it a whopping five seconds in the passenger seat before unleashing a tyranny of questions.

She laughed. “I’m guessing one of our friends mentioned it?”

That was her reply? Not helpful. “I wish you had told me.”

Ducking her head in acknowledgement, she apologized. “I should’ve, yes. It’s not a topic I drop in casual conversation.”

Okay, that he could understand. They’d just met a couple weeks ago. “So, what is…it, exactly?” He’d already forgotten how to pronounce the condition.

“Fibromyalgia, and no one’s truly sure what causes it. Most doctors believe it’s an over-abundance of nerve reactions or that it’s a form of an autoimmune disease where the immune system attacks healthy cells by accident. Some people experience symptoms after a serious psychological stressor or a bad physical accident, but either way, it’s hard to diagnose. There’s no imagining or labs that detect it. In my case, it took quite a few years and a litany of tests to rule out other things before my diagnosis.”

It sounded horrible. He despised regular checkups, never mind hospitals. She’d been in Boston while her close friends and solitary family member had been here. The thought of her going through that alone tore at him.

“What kind of tests?”

“A lot of labs, mostly. They ruled out lupus, multiple sclerosis, rheumatoid arthritis, spondylitis, Sjogren’s syndrome, and Cushing disease because they have similar symptoms, however they checked for other things like diabetes and cancer, too. Eventually, they sent me to an endocrinologist who worked alongside a rheumatologist, and they figured out what was wrong.”

That was insane. “All that just to tell you that you have fibromyalgia?”

She shrugged, way more nonchalant than he’d be in her situation. “Those have to be ruled out first before determining it’s fibro. In fact, besides symptoms, it’s the only way to diagnose.”

Which brought up concern number two. “What symptoms?”

Humming in thought, she turned onto their street. “Everybody has varying ones, but most have fatigue and a dull widespread pain throughout their body. Others have had headaches, irritable bowels, memory issues, insomnia, that kind of thing. Thus far, I’ve been fortunate. I just have pain and fatigue.”

Just. She just had those things, as if it was no big deal.

Pulling into his driveway, she parked. “There’re prescriptions that can be taken, but because it behaves like an autoimmune disease, those are the meds for it. I work in a job around people, so I didn’t want to be shutting off my immune system. I went the holistic approach since it was best for me. Vitamins, yoga, massage therapy, and herbs to help me sleep at night.” She met his gaze, and he found no distress in hers. She shrugged. “I know my limitations and listen to my body. I try to avoid stress, don’t push my muscles too hard, rest.”

That’s what she’d been doing the past few weeks, though. Burying her grandmother, moving home, starting a new job, lifting boxes, redecorating the office. All stressors and physical stuff.

A sigh, and he glanced at her driveway next door, watching Scarlett and Dorothy let themselves into her house. His head was a riot and he had so many more questions.

“Are you okay?”

He laughed without mirth. She had constant pain, and she was asking if he was okay? “Will it ever go away? Or…will you get sicker?”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished. “It’s a chronic lifelong condition, but it’s not progressive.”

That, at least, brought him a semblance of relief.

Nodding, he studied her. Beautiful oval face, huge blue eyes, full lips, regal neck, blonde hair falling past her slender shoulders. One would never know the struggles she faced daily or the baggage she had to carry. If not for her friends, he wouldn’t have been aware anything was wrong. An invisible illness.

Unsure why emotion had him by the jugular, he cupped her face. He’d met her a handful of weeks ago. Yes, he respected the hell out of her, was attracted to her, and adored how their personalities jived despite the differences, but he’d had his dentist longer than they’d been neighbors or colleagues. There shouldn’t be an overwhelming sense of empathy on her behalf or the desire to suddenly start slaying her metaphorical dragons. He’d been with Felica nearly two years and hadn’t reached this stage. For crying out loud, he’d kissed Rebecca for the first time yesterday.

“I’m not fragile.” She offered a smile. “I won’t break.”

Maybe that was it. The culprit. Appearances were deceiving. She was slender in nature and seemed so very delicate. But she was the farthest conceivable thing from weak. Life and circumstances had tried to crush her, yet here she was, still standing. A testament to her nature and strength.

A swallow worked her throat. “If you want to return to just a working relationship, I’d understand.”

“That’s not what I want.”

Her gaze swept his face, more intimate than if she’d physically touched him. “What do you want?”

Honestly? He wanted to take care of her. A concept so foreign to him, it might as well be Greek. And she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She did it just fine on her own.

He went with door number two. “I’d like to carry you in the house and make love to you half the night.”

Rearing, her brows went up as if she hadn’t expected that answer.

Unable to help it, he grinned. “Damn shame you got company tonight.” He exhaled, brushing his thumb across her soft cheek. “For the record, you having this condition doesn’t change my desire for you or the curiosity to see where it leads.” He got the weird suspicion other men had bolted, and perhaps that’s why she had delayed telling him, but his interest only dug deeper the more he learned. “I like you, Rebecca.”

A whole heck of a lot. Probably more than was wise.

“I’m rather fond of you, too, Graham.” She glanced behind him out the window and back again. “But I’m gonna need you to kiss me and get out of my car. My besties are waiting.”

He swung his head around, and spotted said besties on her stoop, staring.

Laughing, he returned his gaze to all that blue. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Aw, look at you, using southern manners and—”

He kissed her, cutting off her teasing, but he was certain she didn’t mind. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she parted her lips upon impact. He lost himself in her for a selfish few seconds and their errant chemistry.

Groaning, he pulled away before they got too heavy and he said to hell with the friends.

She smiled against his mouth, and the sweetness nearly undid him.

“Goodnight, Graham.”

Boo. “Goodnight.” He opened the door, waved, and strode to his door.

He waited for her to back out of his driveway and into hers before going inside.

After feeding Twain and letting him run in the yard, Graham plopped on the couch, the dog’s head in his lap, and pulled up Google on his phone. It took him three tries to get the search or spelling of fibromyalgia in correctly.

For a condition barely researched or one he’d not heard of often, there was a stunning amount of people who had it. Something like four million in the U.S. diagnosed, which was two percent of the population. It affected more women than men, any ethnicity, at any age, though most cases were middle aged.

Sighing, he opened a link to read an article.

The deets mimicked what she’d told him already, however she hadn’t mentioned the vast number of people who’d had their pain ignored and how some doctors discredited the condition due to narc-seeking adults. In some medical communities, fibromyalgia was still considered a joke.

Shaking his head, he leaned back on the cushion. To think, Rebecca went through too many tests to get an answer to her symptoms, while others couldn’t even get their doctors to listen.

Unfathomable.

He glanced at the dog. “She’s in pain, buddy. She’s always in pain.” The very idea was causing him pain.

Twain whined as if he understood.

Needing to take his mind off what he’d learned, he thumbed through his contacts and connected to his mom.

“Everything alright, honey?”

No. “Yes. Can’t I call my mother?” Hearing her voice began calming the tattered fringes of his nerves.

“You absolutely can, but you don’t typically do it so late.”

He glanced at his screen and winced. It was after ten. “My bad. I know you were awake reading, anyway.”

“True story.” Rumblings of his father snoring disrupted the background. “Are you feeling homesick?”

Every other instance she’d asked that question, his answer had been yes. Oddly, he found his response different tonight, and wasn’t sure what to make of it. He’d grown up in Minnesota, had gone to college there, and though he had traveled some, he’d had the majority of his career there. Family. Friends. His apartment. His whole life. Minnesota and Georgia couldn’t be more different from one another. Hell, if he looked up the word “opposite” in the dictionary, the two states would be there as an example. He missed home, all the people and places. Always would, but he wouldn’t say he was homesick any longer.

Grunting, he wondered when that happened.

“Good,” Mom replied, even though he hadn’t technically answered. “I’m glad you’re finally settling in.”

Leave it to his mother to know everything without him uttering a syllable. “How’s Dad?”

“Fine. I’m sure you can hear him snoring all the way down there.”

He laughed, swiping a hand across his face. “And here I thought it was the pet rhinoceros.” When he was a kid, his father had Graham and his siblings convinced a rhinoceros lived in the backyard, and that was the noise they’d heard at night, not Dad snoring.

She laughed, and the sound smacked him with fond memories. “How’s work? Is that new hire panning out?”

Ah, Rebecca. “Actually, I think she saved my ass.”

He took a moment to tell her all the things Rebecca had done and how subscribers had risen as a result.

“Sounds like she’s a keeper.”

“Yeah,” he said through a sigh, absently petting Twain’s ears. In more ways than one, Rebecca was irreplaceable. He’d yet to meet a soul more genuine and honest. “She’s pretty, too. Kind. Funny.” He hadn’t so much as hinted to his mom that he had romantic interest in Rebecca, but now that they were dating, he figured he should.

Except Mom didn’t mutter a sound.

“I’m being careful and she’s not the type to throw me under the bus. We’re keeping work and personal separate.”

“Okay,” she said at length. “You’re a smart guy, Graham. We raised you right. What happened at the newspaper here wasn’t your fault. I’d just hate to give your new boss reasons to fire you.”

“Agreed.” He rubbed his jaw. “It’s weird, but I swear the town is rooting for us as a couple, my boss included.”

Actually, now that he’d said it aloud, it sounded even crazier than in his head.

“My, my. You are living in a Hallmark movie.” She made a sound of amusement. “My folks grew up in a small town like Vallantine. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the concept, but I’m glad you’re fitting in. It sounds like an ideal place.”

Ideal. Definitely the proper term for Vallantine.

“I think we will come down and visit in a couple weeks, after all. It’ll be good to see Forest. I’d like to check out this ideal town of yours and meet your Rebecca.”

HisRebecca. Just a phrase, but the possession behind the meaning should raise his hackles.

It didn’t.

“Okay, Mom.”