Chapter 10 #3
He’s scrolling too fast for me to read much of what he wrote, but it’s obvious he was trying to make amends, and that he kept trying, long after he must have assumed I didn’t give a shit. That I was the heartless jerk who had moved on from our friendship without a backward glance.
The messages blur as tears fill my eyes.
“I don’t know what happened,” I whisper. “I never got them. I swear, I… I thought you were glad I was gone.” My voice cracks as I add, “I’m sorry.”
He brushes a thumb across my cheek. “You don’t have to apologize.
I should have tried harder. I should have gone to Scotland and sat outside your house until you were in the mood to talk.
I’ve known you were on the Isle of Arran for a while.
Nix let it slip during training camp. He doesn’t know that I…
That we…” He sighs. “He doesn’t know anything. That also became pretty obvious.”
I sniff, the reminder that I still have to deal with telling my brother that I’m pregnant, helping me pull myself together. I have a lot on my plate right now, and not a lot of time before Charlotte gets here and sees the big reveal for herself.
Though if Blue saw me on the news…
I groan. “Shit. Charlotte and Baylor probably know about the baby now, though,” I say, grateful for an excuse to change the subject.
“They didn’t say anything on the phone, but if there’s footage of me at the crash site on television or online, I’m sure they’ve seen it. They must be so hurt. And confused.”
“Nix’s on the ice right now,” Blue says, still cupping my face. “And Charlotte’s driving from Mobile, right?” I nod, and he adds, “Then you probably have some time. Want me to help you figure out the best way to explain it?”
Our eyes meet, hold, and for a moment I’m so tempted…
But I can’t lean on Blue. Not yet. Not until I have him forward all those messages and figure out where he’s coming from. What he wants.
What I want in light of what he wants.
I shake my head, pulling back until his hand falls from my cheek. “No, that’s okay. Thank you, but it’s something I should handle on my own. They’re my family.” I pull in a breath, adding in a firmer voice, “I’m not ready to tell Bay about your part in this, okay? Not even close.”
Blue nods. “Okay. Then I’ll just focus on being of service. After I get you home, I’ll swing by my place and pack a bag.”
I blink. “Pack a bag?”
“I’m coming to stay with you,” he says as if this is something we’ve already discussed and has been decided. “Don’t worry, I won’t intrude. I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll just be there to help, not pressure you, or—”
“Wait, hold up a second.” I lift my hands into the air with a laugh. “What are you talking about?” I study his expression, waiting for him to explain the joke.
He doesn’t.
Smile fading, I add, “You can’t come stay with me, Blue.
First of all, I don’t have room for you.
Clover’s in the second biggest bedroom, and we turned the third bedroom into a music room.
Second of all, I just found out you haven’t been ghosting me for months.
Right after a traumatic event. I have no idea how I feel about anything that’s happened this morning, except—”
“It’s not about that,” he cuts in, his brow furrowed.
“It’s about Clover. She’s going to need meaningful help, the kind that involves a lot of heavy lifting.
And you’re hurt. And pregnant. You need to rest and heal, not put yourself or the baby at risk trying to lift a grown woman in and out of bed.
Or from her wheelchair to the couch. Or… wherever.”
Wheelchair. Shit. I sag, the wind going out of my sails.
I hadn’t thought about that, but he’s probably right. Her arm, leg, and hip are all seriously messed up, basically the entire left side of her body. How on earth would she manage crutches like that? She’s absolutely going to be in a wheelchair.
And she’s going to need help with everything, absolutely everything, probably even getting onto the toilet. I can cook and clean and bring her meals and fetch her meds, but I’m not sure I’m physically up to the task of being her full-time caregiver.
“I’ll hire a nurse,” I say, sitting up straighter again.
Blue arches a brow. “Twenty-four hours a day? You’ll need two. Maybe three.”
“Then I’ll hire two or three,” I shoot back. “I can cover it. I have my own money, Archer. Plenty of it.”
The words hang between us, the subtext no longer about Clover.
Now, we’re both thinking about that fifty thousand dollar check again. The one I never cashed. The one I would rather have died than cashed, even if I’d actually needed the money. I’m too damned proud.
And so is Clover, a voice whispers at the back of my mind. She’s never going to let you hire round-the-clock nursing. If you try, you’ll just drive her away.
I nibble my bottom lip.
The inner voice is right. I know Clover.
She might—might—let me and Blue float her basic expenses until she’s back on her feet.
But she’s never going to accept more than food and shelter.
And explaining that hiring help would actually be easier for me physically than doing the labor myself will only drive her away faster.
She’ll feel like a burden, call her flaky dad to come pick her up, and be on her way back to Missouri before I can say “please don’t go. ”
That’s the last thing I want.
Clover’s dad isn’t a bad man. When I texted him earlier, he was appropriately upset about the car accident and worried for his daughter. He’s ready to help any way he can; all Clover and I have to do is ask.”
But we shouldn’t have to ask. She shouldn’t have to ask. From what I’ve gathered, that’s always been the problem with her dad. He’s a nice guy who floats through life, being relentlessly pleasant and benignly neglectful.
At least, it’s benign now.
When Clover was a kid, who didn’t know she had to tell her father to buy her new clothes or take her to the doctor when she was sick, it wasn’t so benign.
And don’t even get me started on the trauma he caused by letting poor twelve-year-old Clover start her period with absolutely no warning about what the hell was going on.
As she got older, it sounds like she got better at asking for what she needed, and her father got better at meeting those needs, but not at anticipating them.
If she goes to stay with him, she’ll have to ask for every tiny thing, all day long.
It would be demoralizing and far from conducive to healing from a major injury.
Besides, I’m sure having me help her out in the bathroom will be embarrassing, but not nearly as bad as having her father do it. I have a close, loving relationship with my dad, and I still don’t want him to see me with my britches down at this point in my life.
“I know you have money,” Blue finally says. “But Clover won’t want you spending that much of your money on her.”
“I know,” I mutter, crossing my hands over my stomach, where Bean is stretching in her sleep.
“I doubt she’d stand for it,” he adds.
“I know,” I repeat.
“It would probably make her feel like she had to go back to Missouri, and I don’t think being with her father is the best for her right—”
“I know,” I cut in with a huff, softening my tone as I add, “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Sorry,” he says, his lips quirking. “I can’t read your mind.”
I arch a brow, thinking, Are you sure about that? It seemed like you could before. I would have sworn you knew my mind like the words to your favorite song. Right up until the day you wrote that stupid letter.
He holds my gaze, his seeming to say, You’re right, I dropped the ball. But I won’t drop it again. Not ever. I swear.
Clearing my throat, I look to the window, to the mirror on the wall, to the empty chair in the other corner, anything to keep from looking at him. I can’t start imagining things with Blue again.
I can’t start…projecting, or whatever it was I was doing before.
Promising myself to get some real therapy in addition to all the self-help books I’ve been reading, I nod. “Okay, so we’ll figure something out. Find a place for you to sleep in the music room or something.” I risk a glance his way. “But just for a little while.”
He nods, looking relieved.
Relieved to be able to help a friend…
He really is a good man. But maybe he’s a good man like Clover’s dad is a good man, a good man who just doesn’t have a knack for romantic relationships. Or fatherhood. As much as a part of me longs for him, I don’t want that kind of “good.”
Even if he is the best kisser in the entire world.
Then just kiss him, the inner voice pipes up again. Do more than kiss him. Do it as many times as you can while he’s under your roof, and get it out of your system. Then, you can go back to being friends who co-parent or…whatever.
I snort at the absurdity of that thought.
Then cough.
Then choke on the water I sip in an attempt to stop the coughing.
Blue is gently rubbing my back in circles that make me tingle—despite the coughing—when Wella comes back to take my vitals.
So far, this homecoming is off to a great start.
Just great.