Chapter 24
Bryn
“Don’t you look nice,” Gran says as I come into the kitchen from the mudroom, ready for work. She’s perched in one of the island’s chairs like she was waiting for me.
Glancing down at myself, I run my hands over my hips since I don’t want to fidget with the hem of the cropped shirt, even though my fingers long to do so. “I look how I always do when I go to work, Gran.”
“Rubbish,” she says, sliding a plate of muffins in my direction. Gran’s friends have been dropping food off ever since the accident. “Have a snack with me before you go.”
Unable to deny her, I walk over and take a seat, pulling one of the muffins from the plate. The scent of banana hits my nose, the chocolate chips on top telling me it’ll be delicious. My favorite kind.
“Why are you all dressed up?” she asks, gesturing to my outfit.
Peeling the paper from the muffin, I shake my head. “My uniform has always been a black top and jeans of some kind.”
“Bryn, I’ve never seen you wear that skirt to work before. And that top…”
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, glancing down.
It’s a simple bohemian-style, mid-sleeved black top.
Off the shoulders, with a square neckline that cuts straight across my cleavage so not much is showing.
Though, I suppose the ruching helps make my breasts look plumper than they are.
And my exposed midriff showing makes it a little sexier than what I might normally wear.
“Nothing, it’s just pretty.” Her tone has gone from inquiring to casual, like she thinks the change will somehow bring about an answer.
I see the side eye she gives me as I cross my legs, and the way her head tilts to look at my cowboy boots.
Not my normal ones. The ones that I don’t usually wear to work.
Black with white stitching, they come up just past my ankles.
Between them and the skirt, there’s a lot of leg showing, and I know it. Just like Gran does.
“It’s my first night back,” I explain, shrugging to indicate it isn’t a big deal. Because it isn’t. “I wanted to wear something nicer than sweats or my massage uniform. It’s nice to get a little dressed up.”
“Uh huh.”
After Gran’s hospital visit, I took two weeks off from 10-42.
It didn’t put Nate in much of a bind since I’m only part time these days, but I still felt awful, and it feels good to be going back.
Even if part of me feels sick about leaving Gran for most of the evening.
I’ve had to remind myself that I’ve been around all day because I didn’t work at the massage clinic.
Going back to the clinic a few days after she was home was hell.
I spent every session filled with anxiety that something would happen while I was gone.
That I would come home and find her dead on the floor or in her bed or the shower.
As soon as I would get home, I’d simultaneously want to rush inside and take my time, the need to see her battling heavily with the dread of seeing her hurt.
The last couple of weeks have been an exhausting rollercoaster of emotion.
Peeling away the top of the muffin from the bottom, I tear it into three more pieces, and then pop one into my mouth.
Maybe I should be grateful for that anxiety, though.
It’s kept my mind semi off Wyatt. The moments he does infiltrate my thoughts, which is every second Gran doesn’t occupy them, my heart aches.
I miss him. He’s sent me a few memes, but I haven’t had the heart to do anything more than like the messages.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay tonight?” I ask after swallowing the chunk of muffin and eating another piece, this one from part of the bottom.
“You need to stop asking me that every time you leave the house. I’m fine. I make sure I don’t get up so fast after not eating enough. My blood pressure is good.”
Giving her a long, piercing stare, I take in her warm face.
The face I’ve loved since I was old enough to remember her.
It’s got more wrinkles these days, especially in the last two weeks, but the bruises are mostly healed.
The laceration across part of her forehead is still red and scabbed over.
The stitches are gone, but the mark won’t go away any time soon.
The cast on her arm remains, too. Though she’s doing pretty good with it.
I swallow again. “You worried about me when I was younger, it’s my turn to worry about you.”
“Now that I’m older?” An eyebrow quirks, the sass starting to emerge.
“I didn’t say it,” I laugh, eating the last piece of muffin bottom. Now I can get to the good parts. Not that I’ve tasted much of the muffin to begin with, lost in my thoughts, but I’m pretty sure it’s good. Okay at the very least.
“You know who else is getting older?” she quizzes. I already know what she’s going to say and want no part in it. “You. You know who else? That young man that you seemed so fond of.”
“Gran…” It’s a warning.
That she doesn’t take. “Brynleigh, I understand your concern, but you need to stop worrying and go get him.”
At least once a day. That’s how often she brings this up.
I’m not sure who was more devastated the day I broke things off.
When I came home, Gran knew something was wrong and managed to get the truth out of me, even though I wanted to hold it back a few more days.
If for no other reason than I didn’t want to hear her hassle me about it, because I knew she would, and I was right.
But she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand how it feels to constantly worry that today might be her final day.
That one day I’ll be in this big house without her.
Do a puzzle without her. Sit in the backyard and enjoy the sunshine and morning coffee without her.
She doesn’t understand that I need all of those memories to keep me going long after she’s left me.
Wyatt understood. He didn’t fight it, not like she has, and I’m grateful for that.
It’s exhausting to continue to tell her that now isn’t the right time for Wyatt—or anyone.
Sometimes I wish I could lie to her and tell her that I am seeing him again, just so she leaves me alone.
But then I’d need to fake dates with him, and that would take me away from her, and at that point I might as well just date him for real.
Her hand covers mine, forcing my eyes to meet hers. I know she sees the sheen of moisture in them when her face softens, and she sighs.
“Sweetheart, I know I scared you, but that doesn’t mean you stop living your life,” she says, no sass or firmness in her tone now. “You know I always say a good scare keeps me young. This whole thing added ten extra years to my life.”
I choke out a laugh, squeezing her hand. “The ten you took from me.”
She smiles. “You’re going to live a long, healthy life full of beautiful moments with lots of babies and the love of a good man. I know it.”
“One day, Gran,” I promise her, sandwiching her hand between both of mine. “One day, I promise.”
The real reason I dressed up for work today just walked into the bar, causing my stomach to swoop to my toes. God, he looks good. Black cowboy hat. Black t-shirt with a logo I can’t see from here. And those damn jeans that fit perfectly on an ass that says he never skips leg or glute day.
When he looks in the direction of the bar, I avert my eyes, casting them down to the lemon wedges I’m putting on the rim of a table’s water glasses.
Part of me wants to adjust my skirt, which is borderline too short but still covers everything.
It’s one reason I never wear it to work.
It’s more of a going out with the girl’s kind of skirt.
Savanna sidles up next to me, bumping her hip against mine. “Ready for tonight?”
It’s Thursday night which means karaoke, and one of my favorite nights to work. Not just for the tips, but for the entertainment. The place is already busy, and I know it’s only going to get busier from here.
“Yeah,” I tell her, placing the water on my tray and adding the drinks that our bartender, Martin, put on the counter for me. “If you want to go sit with everyone, though, I’ve got this.”
“Oh, no,” she tells me, shaking her head. “That’s a closed table meeting.”
That grabs my attention, and I turn to face her. “A what?”
“Oh right! I haven’t seen you,” she starts, dropping her voice and glancing around, “Did you hear about that arsonist?”
“Wyatt told me about a suspected arsonist—that one?”
She nods, her blonde ponytail bobbing with the movement. “They think the person might be targeting them.”
“Them?” My voice is shrill even to me, and I cringe. Swallowing, I bring my tone down to match hers. “Like Nate and Wyatt and everyone?”
Again, she nods. “Yeah. I mean, they can’t say for sure because other districts had fires too, but the last few happened when the guys were on shift.”
“So this guy—or girl, I suppose—is just starting a bunch of fires when they’re on shift?” I ask, subtly nudging my head in the direction of their table.
“Yeah. When I quizzed Nate on it, he said they’re usually male, a lot of the time they’re young, and usually withdrawn.
” Like she’s unable to help it, her eyes slide towards the table, and I know she’s looking at her husband.
“He said that arsonists can escalate. At first this guy only torched some treed areas, which in California is ridiculously dangerous anyway, but he burned a shed down the last time. It could just get worse from here.”
She wraps her arms around herself, a shiver rolling through her.
It’s obvious the idea of this guy escalating freaks her out, and while I don’t shiver like she does, the thought of someone out there lighting fires that my friends need to face makes me uneasy.
Even though they know what they’re doing.