Chapter 11
Eleven
Gray
I wait until her breathing evens out then slip carefully from the bed.
She looks tiny now that I’m not holding her in my arms, barely taking up much of the mattress, her slender body shrouded by the blankets.
Eyes closed, lashes splayed over the tops of her cheeks, bright pink lips parted as she breathes slow and easy and steady.
The relief that fills me at that sight…
Too much.
Too big.
But it’s natural for me to feel protective about the woman I saved from the fire, right?
Natural to have a soft spot for a woman who’s endured all she’s endured.
Natural to slip from the halls and want to punch something.
Then to keep punching and punching until the skin on my knuckles split open and the rage burning through my insides is abated.
Unfortunately, I don’t think that punching a wall is going to make me feel better.
Because I saw the remains of her house.
And I don’t think her Nana’s banana bread recipe survived.
“Fuck,” I whisper, hands clenching into fists as I stop and breathe. I know I shouldn’t give a fuck—or not more than a passing, empathetic fuck that any normal human would feel for another human who’s been through it.
But I do.
And I’m not even officially divorced yet, not even out of the shit with one woman.
Yet I’m thinking about jumping right the fuck back in with another one.
Yup. I’m an idiot.
Sighing, I force my hands to relax then lean forward and rest my forehead against the wall.
Then I pull out my cell and hit a number, not thinking how late it is.
Not until Smitty’s normally loud as fuck voice comes on the line…
And it’s quiet.
“Hello?”
What the fuck?
I pull my phone away from my ear, process what time it is.
Shit.
“Gray,” he says, still quiet, though I hear movement now, the rustle of sheets, the pad of footsteps, the soft click of a door closing. “Talk to me.”
It’s louder.
Firmer.
More like the Smitty I know.
“Sorry, man,” I mutter. “I didn’t realize how late it was. This can wait till the morning.”
Even if that feels like a lie.
Even if it feels like I need to fix this for Faye.
Immediately.
Years ago.
“Is it Courtney?”
Fuck. I hate that things are bad enough with my ex that’s the first place his mind goes.
“No,” I say quickly. “Go back to bed. We’ll talk later.”
“Yeah, you’re not gonna get off that easy,” he says, “considering it’s after midnight and your voice sounds like it does and this may be the first time you’ve called me, as in ever…
” He sighs and I hear the sound of a fridge opening and closing, a beer being opened.
“Quit being ornery and just lay it on me.”
I sigh, considering ending the call.
But I’ve already opened Pandora’s Box—there’s no way Smitty will let this go now.
“Gray,” he warns.
“There’s this girl—”
“Not Courtney?” A cautious question that scours its way down my back.
“Not Courtney,” I rasp.
“Fuck, yeah!” he booms, doing it so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
Hell.
I should have started with the fire.
“Don’t stop there, man. Tell me more. Who’s the girl and how can Uncle Smitty help?”
The glee in his voice…
Christ.
My temple throbs and I exhale, thinking this is both a terrible idea and also…the only one I’ve got. I know Smitty will help. I know he’ll do it without a second thought—albeit with a fuck ton of banter and shit-giving and nosiness…
But I’m thinking that Faye needs that.
Thinking she needs the special brand of family that only Smitty can bring.
So, I explain about the fire and earn a “Our own Gray Roberts a hero? I’m positively fluttering my lashes, sweetheart.”
See?
I grind my teeth together, bite back the retort that wants to slide free, and order, “Focus, Smitty. She’s got no one.”
“No one?”
Except me, I want to say. I don’t though. I keep that thought carefully tucked inside my head and instead remind him, “No clothes, no food. No place to stay.”
“Kailey and I have a guest room.”
“She’s staying with me,” I say before I can stop myself.
Lie.
I don’t want to stop myself.
Smitty laughs. “Seems like she’s got a place to stay. When will she be out of the hospital?”
“Should be in the morning. I want to try to get her set up before the game tomorrow.”
“Kailey and I will be on it. Text me when she’s been sprung from hospital jail and we’ll meet you over there with what she needs.”
“You know you could just leave it on my porch,” I mutter, knowing that’s wishful thinking.
Smitty just laughs again. “You also know that’s not going to happen, man.”
Unfortunately, I do.
“I’ll text you in the morning,” I mutter, lifting my phone again, preparing to hang up when I hear his voice again.
“She okay?”
That right there…
The concern Smitty has for a woman he’s never met paired with the fact that he’s not pissed about my after-midnight call is why he’s my friend.
My family.
It’s why I’ll take his loudness, his brashness, the shit he’ll stir up, his nosiness.
Because he cares.
Because he’s helping me make the Grizzlies what I’ve wanted them to be for a long, long time.
“She lost her grandma’s banana bread recipe and her baby pictures and her parents’ wedding photo,” I whisper.
“So, she’s not okay.”
“No,” I tell him, “she’s not okay.”
“You’ll get her there.”
I tense. “Smitty.”
“Courtney isn’t you,” he says quietly.
“Court and I are finally done,” I say just as quietly back. “She signed the papers, is engaged to someone else.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
Since I thought that very same thing, I don’t comment further.
“She isn’t you,” he semi-repeats.
“Ten years of fucking around with her makes that hard to believe.”
“Gray—”
“Need you to focus on Faye,” I mutter. “She needs clothes and conditioner and moisturizer and all the other girl things I don’t have at my place. Oh, and baking shit—flour and sugar and baking soda and one of those Kitchen Aid mixer things.”
Smitty’s quiet—a rare feat.
“She likes baking,” I find myself explaining.
“Got that,” he says after a moment. “We’ll get her set up.”
“Right,” I mutter.
I push off the wall, turn for Faye’s room.
“Smitty?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“Thanks.”
I hang up, and maybe I should go home, let her sleep, should get some rest in my own bed.
But I don’t do that.
Instead, I slip back into Faye’s room…
And then slide into bed next to her.