Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Cassie
Blake has been calling me for a week, and I haven’t answered his calls or texts. Not one of them.
Every time my phone lights up with his name, I try. I swear I try. But the second I reach for it, the tears start all over again until I’m choking on sobs and curled up in bed like I’m broken.
I can’t stop crying. I can’t paint. I can’t even breathe without remembering that news anchor’s voice: Officer Blake Donovan has been shot.
The thought of losing him—the thought of it happening again—it rips me to pieces. I love him. God help me, I do. But I can’t stay with him because the fear is too powerful, and I’m not strong enough for that.
A sharp knock rattles my door.
“Cassie? I know you’re in there,” Rene’s voice carries through the wood, firmer than a drill sergeant. “And if you don’t open up, I’m calling the police for a welfare check. They’ll break it down.”
I drag myself off the couch. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t open the door, and let’s find out.”
And with Rene, I know she means it. “Fine,” I grumble, yanking the door open.
She breezes in, wrinkling her nose. “When was the last time you showered? Or changed those hideous flannel pajamas?”
I glance down. “They’re fine.”
“Fine?” She snorts. “Fine is charitable. While I open these blinds, you’re marching down the hall to that shower.”
“Not now,” I sigh. “I don’t have the energy.”
“That’s your depression talking.” She whirls on me, hands on hips. “Get into the shower, Cass. Or I’ll drag you there myself.”
“When did you become so mean?”
“I’m not mean. I love you. I’ve given you a week to work this out, and you haven’t. So now you get the kick in the ass you need. Get. In. The. Shower.”
“And if I don’t?”
She holds up her phone. “I have the book club on speed dial. Every woman over seventy will be here in ten minutes.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“Relentless,” I mutter.
“My best friend needs me,” she says, folding her arms. “And I’ll resort to any tactics I have to. Now move.”
I move.
The hot water stings my skin as the tears start fresh. By the time I pull on a clean oversized sweater and yoga pants, my face is blotchy, and my chest is tight.
Rene is waiting in the kitchen, with a coffee mug steaming in her hand. “Butter or peanut butter on your toast?”
“I’m not hungry—”
She cuts me off with a glare. “Swallow those words, honey. You’re eating toast.”
I sag into a chair. “Fine. Butter.”
She slides the plate in front of me. I pick at the corner of the toast, nibbling.
“So,” she peels a banana. “What’s your plan?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. Blake’s been asking for you. He came by yesterday.”
The toast drops from my fingers. “What? He was here? He’s not supposed to be driving.”
“I don’t know how he got here, but that’s not the point. The point is that man is in love with you just as much as you’re in love with him. And he needs you.”
Needs me. The words splinter through my chest. “I can’t be with him,” I whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because he got shot, Rene!” The words rip out of my raw throat. “He could’ve died! And I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose him.”
“Oh, Cassie…” She moves to wrap me in a hug, holding me tight. “Fear should never keep you from the best thing that’s ever happened to you. None of us knows when our last day is. He could just as easily die in a car accident. Or slip in the shower. Or choke on a damn sandwich.”
I pull back, glaring through wet lashes. “He’s a cop, Rene. He did get shot.”
“And he could be a brick mason who falls off a wall. Or an electrician who gets zapped. Or a bank teller shot during a robbery. Life is dangerous, honey. Loving someone always is. But you don’t stop living, or loving, because of the what-ifs.”
My chin trembles. “I don’t know how to stop crying.”
“Yes, you do.” She returns to her chair, calm but unyielding. “You need to see him. Once you see him alive, strong, with no tubes, no wires—you’ll stop crying. I guarantee it.”
“Maybe,” I whisper. “Maybe not.”
Rene sighs. “Because you’re my best friend, I’ll give you one last chance to do this on your own. But if you don’t, I’m texting Blake, and he’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“Don’t you dare.” Panic surges through my stomach. “I’m not ready. Look at my face—it’s a mess. I’ll call him tomorrow, I promise.”
“Nope.” She stands, walking to the door. “I gave you time. Now, I’m taking charge.”
“I’m not calling him today!” My voice cracks. “I need to think about what to say.”
She sets her hand on the doorknob, looking back at me. “When I open this door, you’ll be furious with me. But one day, you’ll forgive me.”
“What—”
She opens the door.
Blake steps inside, his arm in a sling. He’s a little pale, but he’s alive. So achingly alive.
Rene slips out, shutting the door behind him.
I clutch my chest. Breath stutters out of me in a sob I can’t hold back.
“You,” my voice cracks, broken and raw, “you could’ve died.”
In two strides, Blake is there, wrapping his good arm around me, holding me tight against the steady beat of his heart.
Then I fall apart—in a mess of ugly, unstoppable tears.
And he never leaves.