Chapter 18
eighteen
PATRICK
Jo remains cradled in my arms as I walk down the hallway to my bedroom.
My hands have hardly left her since I found her curled up on the floor like my worst nightmares come to life. Her hand was in mine the whole ride over. I planned on taking her back to her apartment, but the need to have her in my space, safe and under my watch, had me carrying her to my truck and driving in the opposite direction.
I dropped a text to the cleaning company to apologize for the mess, one to my mom to let her know we were okay, but I’d be heading to my house tonight, and another to Jules to see if she could cover Jo’s shift tomorrow. Knowing Lottie is safe with my mom also meant that I didn’t have an excuse not to bring Jo to my house. Not that I needed one, but it meant I could give her my full attention and take care of her.
There’s no doubt in my mind that she was in the middle of an intense panic attack. So intense, that I was close to calling George or an ambulance. But what caused it?
The moment I turned the lights on and our eyes met, I could see the panic ebb, and her entire body seemed to relax. The way our eyes locked on each other for those few seconds felt like I was peering into the ocean from one of the bluffs. But today, the sky above the ocean was stormy, and her eyes weren’t the deep blue that I love.
She slept the entire drive, and I’m sure I could have woken her to get her into my house, but something about having her in my arms felt right. I carried her from my truck, through the house, up the stairs, and here we are. The guest room behind us is an option, rather than my bedroom, but the decision is made for me when she reaches up and wraps her hand around the collar of my coat.
I step over the threshold into my darkened room, and her eyelids flutter open. A small frown forms between her brows as she tries to take in her surroundings. It feels bizarre that she hasn’t been in this house before, considering we grew up in each other’s homes.
“ We’re at my place,” I assure her. “ I didn’t want you to be alone tonight.”
She blinks up at me and speaks for the first time in what feels like hours. “ Okay .” Her voice is hoarse, and I make a mental note to check if I have some ginger tea in the pantry.
As much as I don’t want to, I slowly lower her to her feet, and she must have the same reservations, because her hand stays glued to my coat. Placing my hand over hers, I smile at her. “ I need to take care of a few things. Why don’t you take a shower?” I nod toward my en suite bathroom. “ I’ll grab you some clothes; I think I have some of Florence’s old things here.”
Her lips curl inward and she lowers her head slowly, looking both insecure and nervous. Placing the tip of my pointer finger under her chin, I tilt her face up. “ I’m not going anywhere, but if you want me to take you ho?—”
“ I want to stay here. ”
I shouldn’t love hearing that, but I’m a fool around this woman. She pads across the hardwood floor, glancing back a few times, looking so vulnerable, and shuts the door behind her. When the shower starts to run, I turn around and jog down the stairs, throwing my coat over the banister on my way into the kitchen. Flipping on the kettle, I place my hands on the cool countertop and let my head hang between my shoulder blades.
Only now that I’m alone do I begin to break down tonight’s events.
Seeing Jo in that state, lying on the floor of the restaurant, looking so small and broken, brought back so much heartbreak and trauma to a day I’m sure neither of us want to remember. A reminder of finding someone else I cared for lying hopeless in that building. I know she isn’t broken, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to help her.
In the years I’ve known her, I’ve never seen Jo in such a way. Sure , she had her moments of stress over work things, or worries like the rest of us, but nothing that would come close to being a panic attack. Was this the first one? When did they start? What caused it?
With a cup of tea, bottle of water, and some aspirin in hand, I head back upstairs. Jo still isn’t out of the shower when I put the items on the bedside table, so I head into the guest room closet and pull out some clothes for her. I’m about to grab one of Flo’s sweaters, when I spot my old lacrosse T -shirt folded up next to it.
Ten minutes later, I’m scrolling through my phone , looking at pictures of Lottie while I wait for Jo to finish in the bathroom. When a text pops up on my phone, I shouldn’t be surprised that my mom is still awake; she won’t be able to sleep until she knows we’re home safe.
Mom: Is she okay?
Patrick: Yeah, we’re at my place.
Mom: Look after our girl. Don’t worry about Lottie, you stay with Jo as long as she needs.
I want to reply that she isn’t my girl. Not anymore.
Patrick: I will. Give Lottie a big hug for me in the morning please.
The steam coming from under the door reminds me that she’s been in there for a while, and I don’t want to overstep, but something doesn’t feel right. Taking cautious steps toward the door, I rap my knuckles against the wood. “ Hey , everything okay in there?”
Silence .
I try not to panic, because that’s not what she needs right now. With my ear against the door, I listen carefully. After a minute I hear a faint sound above the running water. When I hear it a second time, my hand is already on the handle, steam hitting me in the face as I barrel into the room.
“ Jo ?” I call, louder this time.
It takes me a second, but when the steam clears, I see her. Sitting in the middle of the shower stall, her legs pressed to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly. Seeing her so small and fragile like this again has my heart careening to the floor. Her skin is mottled red from the hot water, but even through the cascade of water, I can tell she’s crying. I’d hoped I was wrong about hearing her broken sobs through the door. Her tears disappear down the drain, but they’re not gone quick enough. I’d sell my soul not to see her cry ever again.
Approaching her slowly so she knows I’m here, I slide off my shoes and step onto the tiled floor. Her head shoots up from where it was resting against her knees, and her eyes go wide, mouth opening like she wants to protest, but a heart-wrenching whimper leaves her instead. Not caring about the hot water as it pelts down on me, soaking my clothes instantly, I crouch in front of her. I ignore the fact she’s naked and keep my eyes locked with hers.
“ Hey , hey,” I say in a hushed tone. I brush the wet strands of hair from her face and cup her damp cheeks. “ What can I do?”
“ I - I - I can-n’t do-o-” Her words come out in short gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to get them out. She’s going to have another panic attack.
“ Johanna , love, I need you to breathe for me. Like before, you remember? Look at me, watch me breathe in. Watch me breathe out.” I lean over her and turn off the water, before reaching behind me to grab a fresh towel from the hamper. Wrapping it around her, the white terry cloth swallows her, and then she’s back in my arms. “ That’s it, nice and slow.”
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, I press my lips to her forehead. She smells like me, and I have to tamper down the wild thoughts that triggers and how I can make her smell like me in other ways. Wrapped up in my sheets. Wrapped up in me.
The tremors slow again, her breathing calmer now. “ Let’s get you in bed,” I whisper into her hairline. I stand with her in my arms and shuffle out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of water behind us with each squelching step.
“ You’re soaked,” she whispers.
“ I needed a shower anyway.” I pause at the foot of the bed. “ I’m going to put you down.”
When I place her securely on her feet, she glances around warily, like she’s forgotten where she is.
I point to the pile of clothes on the dark gray comforter. “ I thought you could sleep in those. Not that you need to sleep in here, but it’s the biggest bed.”
Her long hair clings to the towel in a knotted mess, but there’s color in her cheeks now, and not just from the heat of the shower. Her eyes aren’t glassy and unfocused anymore. Seeing her return to herself comforts me.
She walks toward the clothes and looks over her shoulder at me, grasping the towel close to her chest. “ Thank you,” she says, her voice clearer now. Her eyes dart back and forth from me to the hand that’s resting on the sweatpants. And that’s when I notice I’m just staring at her and she’s waiting to get changed.
“ Oh , sorry.” I turn on my heel, almost slipping in my wet socks. “ You get changed and make yourself at home.” In my bed.
Shut up, brain!
Once the door shuts behind me, I collect myself and peel off my drenched clothes on the way to the laundry room. Drying off my hair quickly before pulling a fresh T -shirt and some pajama pants from the dryer, I slip them on and head upstairs after I lock up. I’m passing Lottie’s room when a thought pops into my head.
I beg the rapid beating in my chest to stop. I have no clue if my heart rate is still high from seeing Jo in such a state or from having her in my space, but it needs to slow down.
Tapping lightly on the door to my room, I hear a soft “ Yes ” through the wood. My foot has barely landed when my heart rate picks up to an unhealthy rhythm again. Perhaps I’m dreaming. No , because my dreams have never looked like this. This is somehow better and worse. Johanna is wearing my old, baggy T -shirt, snuggled up in my comforter, and on my side of the bed. I haven’t shared a bed with another person in a long time, but I do have a preference for which side I sleep on.
For tonight, that’s her side, and damn, does she look perfect there.
Her hair is still a tangled mess and I know she’ll hate going to sleep like that. I hold up the hairbrush I grabbed from Lottie’s room in question. “ I thought you might want to brush your hair.”
“ Oh .” She runs her hands over the damp strands. “ Wow , I must look like a wreck.”
Never in your life.
My lip stings with how hard I bite it not to let those words slip free. I sit in front of her and twirl my finger around.
“ I can do it,” she argues and sits up straight to prove her point.
Pulling my hand backward and shaking my head, I stare at her with pleading eyes. “ I know you can, but let me do this. I don’t know how else to help you.”
Her head tilts to the side, and she looks like she might protest again, and I’m glad she’s got some of that spark back. She chews on the corner of her rosy lip and turns, the comforter twisting with her until her back is to me.
Moving to my knees, I shuffle forward and gently pull the wet strands over her shoulders. Bringing the brush up to the ends that sit at the small of her back, I drag it through her hair, the bristles gliding through easily with each pass. I slowly work my way upward, being careful not to tug on her scalp.
“ You do help,” she says out of the blue. “ You said you didn’t know how to help. But you just being here with me now. It helps. Having you close helps.”
I’m at a loss for words, concentrating on my task while I try to find the right ones. I don’t want to open up old scars, not like the other night at the bar, but I have to let her know what I’ve always wanted to say. What I’d planned on telling her when I flew out to see her.
“ That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To help, to be there. To be the person you needed.” To be the person you wanted.
Her hair is now smooth, like woven gold, so I place the brush on the mattress. My hands come to the base of her neck and collect the sleek strands; my fingers threading and twisting through them like muscle memory, something I’ve done countless times with Lottie .
“ Are you… Are you braiding my hair?” she whispers.
My fingers continue to work methodically through her hair until I come to the ends, and I take in the braid running down her spine. With my teeth, I pull at the pink scrunchie wrapped around my wrist and use it to secure her hair. “ I did a pretty good job, too. You have a lot more hair than Lottie .”
With my hand still holding on to the ends of her hair, I slowly stroke my fingers against the soft material at her back. She relaxes into the touch, melting into the bed, until she’s resting against my knees.
“ That feels so good,” she breathes, and with those words, we freeze.
Clearing my throat, I climb off the bed. She turns around to settle against the pillows behind her, a pink hue creeping across her neck. The moment that I shouldn’t have allowed to happen has ended. Slowly backing away from the bed, I point toward the bedside table.
“ I made you some ginger tea, but it’s probably cold now. There’s also some water and aspirin. I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be across the hall if you need me.”
She shoots up, the dark gray comforter pooling at her waist. “ Don’t leave.”
How can I tell her it’s not a good idea, when she stares up at me like that? The pleading in her voice makes it hard to say no. She’s much more herself now, but vulnerability and unease still swirl in her eyes.
“ Please ,” she whispers.
My eyes fall shut, because I don’t have the will or the way to deny her. When I open them again, her shoulders slump as I turn toward the door, but I only make it as far as the light switch. The room is bathed in darkness, but a streak of light from the streetlamps outside cuts across Jo’s face. Her shoulders visibly relax as I walk back to the bed.
“ I’ll stay,” I assure her and point to the floor next to her. “ I’ll be right down here.”
“ No , up here. Please , Patrick . I need to know someone is next to me right now.”
If she says please one more time, I’ll give her the world and ask her what more she wants.
Reminding myself I’m here to comfort her and this means nothing, I round the bed and take a deep breath. I know she needs me right now, so I pull back the covers and climb in beside her. Her hands are tucked underneath her head, the raw terror and panic long gone. Her face is bare, making her look so much younger. So like the Johanna I remember before she left, but also different.
Mirroring her position, I give her a small smile. She looks like she could fall asleep any second, so I don’t expect one in return. But when a soft smile pulls at her lips, that stupid organ in my chest takes off again.
Distracting myself from our closeness, I absorb all the details of her face. The constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose remains the same, but there are new additions on her cheeks and forehead, tempting me to trace each one. Her hair is the same sun-kissed shade of honey, just longer. She always wears it up, but I love it when it’s free, flowing down her back endlessly. And those eyes. Such a hypnotizing deep blue, that you could get lost in them and be thankful. Like me, the lines around her eyes and mouth are a little more prominent, only adding to her loveliness.
As I file away every detail—new and old—bitterness blooms. I’m bitter about the years we’ve missed together. Bitter that I don’t know which summer she gained a new freckle. Bitter that I don’t know if the lines on her face are from laughing at another man’s jokes.
A tender touch to my forehead drags me from my sullen thoughts.
Jo runs her thumb between my eyebrows. “ Why the frown? You look like Graham .” There’s a lightness in her tone, and like a calm breeze, it blows the unpleasant feeling away.
“ I take great offense to that,” I say and poke her teasingly in the side.
A carefree and airy laugh leaves her lips. But it’s not her laugh that threatens to tilt my world on its axis. It’s the blinding smile that breaks across her face. The smile I’ve been waiting to see since she came back to town. Would that smile taste as good as it’s making me feel? Are her lips still as soft as it makes my heart?
A few inches are all it would take to answer those questions.
But now isn’t the time. And perhaps that’s the soundtrack to our story: “ Never the Right Time . ” That thought doesn’t stop my next words, though.
“ That makes me happy.”
She looks puzzled for a second. “ What does?”
“ Seeing that smile again.”
I register the candidness in my words too late, because the smile slips from her lips. It wasn’t my intention to make her feel bad, but as I watch regret contort her features, I wonder if she thinks the same. That our chance has passed, and perhaps that one night was all we were meant to have.
I’ll be her friend, the person she can lean on in tough times like today, and I’ll find peace with it. Eventually . I have to; for Lottie , for my own sake, and hers.
Pulling the comforter up around us, I stroke my fingers across her cheek, before joining our hands together. I’ve gone from wanting to build a pillow fort to needing her touch. “ C’mon , YoYo , let’s get some sleep.”
As I watch her eyes close and hear her breathing even out, I think back to that night together. I’ll savor that night for the both of us, knowing we’ll never get another. I take comfort in the fact that I know of the pillowy softness of her lips. That we spent so many summers together collecting new freckles. That hundreds of her smiles were put on her face because of me.
That for even a fraction of our life, she was mine.