Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Darryl
I stepped off the plane after a long shift, the Chicago night cool and sharp as I hauled my flight bag through the terminal, the hum of engines fading behind me.
The wake for Carol had wrapped up yesterday, and Ashley was still on leave, staying at their old house, too worn out to fly or do much else.
Work had kept me tied up today with a double shift I couldn’t dodge, but now I was free, and my feet took me straight to my car, the need to see her pulling me hard.
I drove to her place, that familiar house with chipped blue paint and a sagging porch, parking under the dim streetlight, grabbing a bag of groceries I’d picked up on the way.
It was just some basics for a quick dinner, something to keep her going, nothing fancy.
I knocked softly, pushing the door open when no one answered, stepping inside as the quiet hit me like a wall.
“Ashley?” I called, setting my bag down by the door, kicking off my shoes, the faint glow of a lamp spilling from the living room.
She was on the couch, curled up under a quilt, her hair a tangled mess, eyes red but dry, staring at the TV where some old sitcom flickered, the sound low and ignored.
“Hey,” I said, walking over, dropping the grocery bag on the coffee table, and sitting on the edge of the couch beside her.
“Hey,” she said, her voice flat, sitting up a little, pulling the quilt tighter around her shoulders, the bracelet I’d given her in Vegas glinting on her wrist. “You’re here.”
“Yeah,” I said, resting a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly through the quilt, keeping my tone gentle. “Just got off work. Wanted to check on you.”
“Thanks,” she said, managing a small smile, her hand brushing mine quickly before dropping back to her lap. “You don’t have to.”
“Want to,” I said, standing up, grabbing the groceries. “Brought stuff to cook. You hungry?”
“Not really,” she said, her voice quiet, watching me as I headed to the kitchen, unpacking chicken, veggies, and a box of pasta. “Darryl, you don’t need to do that.”
“I want to,” I said, turning to face her, leaning against the counter, meeting her eyes. “Let me take care of you, okay? Just sit there.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding slowly, her shoulders slumping as she settled back, pulling her knees up under the quilt.
I got to work, filling a pot with water, setting it on the stove to boil, chopping carrots and onions, the kitchen warming with the sizzle of chicken in a pan.
She stayed quiet on the couch, the TV droning in the background, and I kept it simple, tossing pasta into the pot, mixing a quick sauce with garlic and cream I’d picked up.
The smell filled the room, warm and rich, and I stirred it all together, plating it up fast, two bowls of creamy pasta with veggies and chicken, nothing special but good enough.
“Here,” I said, carrying the bowls over, setting one in her lap, sitting beside her with mine, handing her a fork. “Eat something.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking the fork, poking at the pasta, her movements slow. “Looks good.”
“Hope so,” I said, digging into mine, watching her take a small bite, chewing quietly. “How’s it taste?”
“Nice,” she said, nodding a bit, swallowing, setting the fork down after a couple of bites. “You’re sweet, Darryl. You don’t have to do this, though.”
“Want to,” I said, setting my bowl on the table, turning to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re beat. Let me help.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice soft, looking at me, her eyes tired but warm. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” I said, pulling her into a hug, my arms wrapping around her tight, her head resting on my chest, her quilt bunched between us.
She leaned in, her arms sliding around my waist, holding me back, her breath slow against my shirt.
“You holding up?” I said, rubbing her back gently, keeping her close.
“Trying,” she said, her voice muffled, her grip tightening a bit. “It’s hard.”
“I know,” I said, kissing the top of her head quickly, my hand smoothing her hair. “I’ve got you, alright?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding against me, pulling back a little, her hands resting on my chest, looking up with a small smile. “You’re good at this.”
“Trying,” I said, grinning a bit, brushing her cheek with my thumb, keeping it light. “Finish that pasta, huh?”
“Okay,” she said, picking up her fork again, taking another bite, slow but steady, and I ate mine too, the room quiet except for the TV hum and the clink of forks.
She didn’t finish it all, just a few more bites, but it was something, and I took the bowls to the sink, rinsing them quickly, letting her settle back under the quilt.
“Early flight tomorrow,” I said, walking back over, sitting beside her again, resting my arm along the couch back, my hand on her shoulder. “Got to head out soon.”
“Stay a bit?” she said, leaning into me, her voice soft, her hand finding mine, squeezing lightly.
“Yeah,” I said, pulling her close, my arm wrapping around her tighter, her head resting on my chest again, the quilt soft under my hand. “Not leaving yet.”
“Good,” she said, snuggling in, her breath evening out, her hand resting on my stomach, warm through my shirt.
We sat there, the TV flickering, her quiet against me, my hand rubbing her arm slowly, keeping her steady, the weight of the day easing a bit with her close.
Time slipped by, the clock pushing past midnight, and I knew I had to go, my flight at dawn nagging at me.
“Got to head out,” I said, kissing her forehead softly, pulling back a bit, my hand still on her arm. “Sleep, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, nodding, sitting up slowly, her eyes heavy. “Thanks, Darryl. For everything.”
“Anytime,” I said, standing, pulling her up with me, hugging her tight one more time, her arms wrapping around my neck, holding me close. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” she said, pulling back, her hands sliding to my chest, smiling small. “Night.”
“Night,” I said, kissing her cheek quick, grabbing my bag, heading out, the cool air hitting me as I shut the door soft behind me. I drove home quick, crashing hard, my alarm set for four, the early flight looming but her face stuck in my head, tired and broken but still there.
I woke before the alarm, the dark still thick outside, and got up quietly, pulling on jeans and a shirt, my mind on her.
I drove back to her place, letting myself in with the spare key she’d left out, the house silent, her curled up on the couch still, breathing slowly under the quilt.
I moved to the kitchen, keeping it quiet, grabbing eggs and bread from the fridge, frying up a quick scramble, toasting a couple of slices, and plating it simply with a glass of juice.
I found a pen and a scrap of paper, scribbling a note: Hey, eat this.
Call me if you need me. You’re tough, Ashley.
- Darryl. I set it by the plate, leaving it on the coffee table where she’d see it, glancing at her one more time, her face soft in sleep, before slipping out, locking the door behind me, heading to the airport with her still on my mind, hoping she’d be okay till I got back.