Chapter Eighteen
WEST
Two. Fucking. Weeks.
No response to my texts, not a single call returned. I’ve taken the advice of the men I trust most, and I’m giving Blue space to breathe.
But if my wife wants me to feel the sting of missing her, mission fucking accomplished.
The TV’s blaring in the background, but I can’t recall any of the shit that’s been on the screen the last few hours.
I just get up in the morning and turn it on to make the house feel less empty, to cover the fact that I’m alone here.
The only time I’ve even bothered to leave home over the past fourteen days was for my MRI.
The couch is my bed now, since I can’t seem to sleep in my actual bed, and it feels like the walls are closing in on me. I feel zero shame admitting the words that have been cycling through my head on repeat.
I miss my fucking wife.
Bad.
The thought has me reaching for my phone again, and I shoot Blue another text. A text she’ll probably read then ignore, because she needs space, but shit…
I’m fucking dying over here.
West: I just want to hear from you, Blue. Can I at least get a text back?
I set the phone down and try to focus on the TV, but I can’t. It’s just noise cluttering my head, so I mute it and grab the phone again.
West: Please. Just… please.
I set it down again, stand, pace between the couch and coffee table, trying to get my heart to stop racing, but it’s no use. I’ve been all nerves and anxiety for days now. The only thing that’ll fix it is her.
Without thinking, my phone is in my hand again.
West: Please, Blue. I love you. You have to fucking know that. Please say something.
I toss the phone to the couch this time, knowing this is all for nothing.
“Fuck!”
The air around me feels hotter than it did a moment ago, so I slip out of my sling, then pull my shirt off. I put the sling back on, then drop down onto the couch, gripping my hair.
“What the hell have I done?”
My thoughts are back on that night at the bar, where one beer turned into two, then too many to count. I knew what I was doing, knew she’d be pissed, but I couldn’t stop myself. All I could think about was numbing the pain. Not the physical pain.
The pain in my head.
My heart.
My soul.
Everything’s just been so fucking heavy lately, and I just wanted to not feel it for a little while. I stupidly thought Blue would give me a pass, but I should’ve known better. She went through hell as a kid, and here I am making her relive all the bad shit.
I’m on my feet again, pacing because it’s all I can do.
I glance toward my phone again, aching to send another text that’ll only go unanswered, but just as I reach for it, a sharp buzz draws my attention toward the foyer.
Someone’s at the gate, and while I’d love to think it’s my wife, she wouldn’t need to buzz to get in. So, my steps are slow and disinterested.
Normally, I’d speak through the intercom, asking who it is, but I honestly don’t give a shit at the moment. So, with the push of a button, I just release the gate, granting access to whoever’s dropped by. I unlock and open the door a little, then drag my ass back to the couch to lie down.
I check my phone for a text again as someone pulls up and rounds the circular drive.
Still no response from Blue. A few seconds pass before a car door closes, followed by the trunk slamming shut, then the car drives off.
I stay completely still and listen as the front door creaks open, and I should probably get up to see who just walked in, but like I said…
Don’t give a shit.
Footsteps echo across the marble tile in the foyer, then stop. A few seconds later, someone takes a deep breath.
“Well, shit. I’m not saying I needed the red carpet rolled out for me, but a damn handshake would’ve been nice.”
I recognize that voice right away.
Confused, I’m off the couch in a flash, then I’m rushing toward the foyer, staring at the last face I expected to see today.
“Grandpa?”
A huge grin spreads across his face as he sets his suitcase down, and I swear this is the first time I’ve felt anything but rage or dread since Blue left.
“So, your mama did teach you boys manners,” he laughs, and the next second, he has me in one of his tight hugs.
Something I didn’t realize I needed so badly.
“What are you even doing here?”
He releases me but grips my good shoulder, staring like he sees right through me—right through the fake ‘I’m okay’ expression.
“Well, the last few times we chatted, I heard it in your voice. You need someone, so… here I am. Being your someone.”
My chest feels tight all of a sudden, and I hate that my emotions are so fucking raw.
Taking a breath to fight the sting in my eyes, I nod.
As surprised as I am to see him standing here, I know I shouldn’t be.
Whenever any of his kids or grandchildren are going through, Boone Landry is right there with them.
My cousins usually keep him pretty booked up, but I guess he knew how much having him here would help.
And it means a whole hell of a lot.
I give him a one-armed hug, squeezing him when words fail me.
“Thank you,” is all I can manage.
“Ah, stop it. Now, I’m here until you tell me to leave, so point me toward my room.”
Without hesitation, I grab his luggage and lead him toward the stairs to one of the guestrooms. Then, I carry his suitcase to the closet, so he doesn’t have to lift it on his own. He moves toward the window, overlooking the pool as he nods.
“The pictures you sent don’t do this place justice, West,” he says, still surveying. “I tell you what. I couldn’t be prouder of what you and Blue have built.”
Hearing her name sends a sharp pain pulsing through my head like a current of electricity.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking slow steps to stand beside him at the window.
Silence creeps in, and I know he feels it. The weight I’m carrying. How I’ve reached my breaking point.
“I’m sorry you had to drop everything to come here. I know you don’t need it, but I’ll reimburse you for your plane ticket.”
“West, please,” he chuckles quietly. “I’m here just as much for myself as I am for you.”
But something in his tone shifts the vibe in the room. The air is suddenly heavier, more solemn.
“You haven’t sounded like yourself for weeks now, and it… it worries me,” he admits. “So, it’s my job to do what I can to help. Even if all I can do is keep you company. Or keep you from self-destructing.”
I don’t meet his gaze, but I catch it in my peripheral vision as I stare straight ahead.
“I know your mom’s away and a little out of touch with all you boys are going through, but… you’ve got me.”
I nod but still can’t look at him. Because if I do, I can’t promise I won’t lose my composure. But his presence means everything, and his words go a long way with me.
More than he could ever really know.
“Now, call all the boys up and tell them to get over here because Grandpa’s in town. Invite your brothers, Ricky, and whoever else you want,” he instructs. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower, then meet me in the kitchen with your apron on.”
“God, Grandpa…”
“Don’t God, Grandpa me,” he shoots back with a laugh. “I’ll need your help whipping up my famous gumbo for dinner. And we’re making a lot because I haven’t forgotten how much you boys eat.”
“I’m no good in the kitchen.”
“Don’t you think I know that? But you can follow orders, can’t you?”
I laugh a little, and as much as I don’t want to cook, spending time with him will be worth it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then, there you go!” he says. “I’m guessing you have some sort of grocery delivery service set up?”
“We do,” I sigh.
“Good. I’ll shoot you a list before I shower. See you in a bit,” are his final words before he disappears in the ensuite bathroom where the shower turns on the next second.
My plan for the day was to become one with the couch while I sulked, but thanks to Grandpa Boone… it looks like I’m making gumbo instead.