26. #4
Reese could've asked me about it at any point.
But guilt didn't seem particularly interested in fairness.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Maybe this was small.
Maybe doing one thing for her wouldn't fix what was happening between us, but at least it would show her I meant what I'd said.
Grant's hand stopped moving.
I hadn't realized he'd been reading over my shoulder.
"Naomi."
I sent another message before looking at him.
Reese read it almost immediately.
No heart.
No thank you.
Nothing.
I locked my phone.
Grant was staring at me.
"What?"
"You're going to drive across town because she wants a purse tonight?"
"She needs it for her trip."
"At nine o'clock."
"Grant."
"I'm asking."
"And I'm answering."
I stood, holding the towel securely around myself as I headed toward the closet.
Behind me, the mattress shifted.
"You offered her three other solutions."
"I know."
"And?"
"And she doesn't want three other solutions. She wants her stuff."
I stepped into the closet and started looking through the clothes I'd accumulated there.
I could feel him behind me before he said anything.
"Is that why you're going?"
My hand stopped on a hanger.
I turned.
Grant stood in the doorway.
"What does that mean?"
"Are you going because you actually want to help her, or because she's mad at you?"
My mouth opened.
Then closed.
Annoyingly perceptive.
"I'm the reason she doesn't have it."
"She left it at your house."
"And then I moved."
His eyebrows rose. "Almost a year after she left it there."
"It's not that big of a deal," I turned back toward the clothes. "I've been a shitty friend lately."
Grant didn't immediately contradict me.
That somehow made it worse.
"I've ignored her. I've avoided her. I've been sitting here questioning whether she'd do something horrible to me without even having enough courage to ask her about it." I pulled a pair of leggings from the shelf. "So, yes, maybe I feel guilty. But she needs something, and I can get it."
I turned toward him again.
"It's not that far."
Grant studied me.
For a moment, I expected another argument.
Instead, he pushed himself away from the doorway and reached for a T-shirt.
I frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting dressed."
"Why?"
He pulled the shirt over his head.
"Because we're going."
"We?"
"Yes."
"Grant, you don't have to come."
"I know."
He reached for another pair of sweats.
"It's literally going to take me five minutes once I get there."
"Great. Then we'll be back in an hour."
I finished getting dressed.
My phone vibrated again from the bedroom while I pulled my shirt over my head.
For a second, I wondered if Reese had finally said thank you.
When I checked, there was still nothing from her.
Just the little Read 9:12 PM beneath my last message.
I slipped the phone into my bag.
Something about that bothered me.
Not enough to change my mind.
Just enough that I noticed.
By the time we were in the car, I was starting to regret offering to go.
Not enough to turn around, apparently, because when Grant asked for the address, I gave it to him and watched him type it into the navigation system without another complaint. Thirty-four minutes appeared beneath the route.
Grant glanced at it before pulling out of the driveway.
I settled into the passenger seat and tucked one leg beneath the other, resting my phone face down against my thigh. Reese had read my last message almost immediately, but nearly ten minutes later, she still hadn't responded.
I tried not to make anything out of that.
Going to get her bag wasn't supposed to be some grand gesture that immediately fixed our friendship. Still, a thank you would've been nice.
I turned my phone over again.
Nothing.
"Checking isn't going to make her respond."
My eyes moved toward Grant.
He kept his attention on the road, one hand resting loosely against the steering wheel as though he hadn't been paying attention to me at all.
"I wasn't checking."
"You've checked three times."
"I checked the time."
"Three times in ten minutes?"
I turned the screen off. "I'm putting it away."
The phone disappeared into my bag before he could make another comment, and I shifted toward the window.
Grant's hand moved from the center console and settled over my thigh. He didn't ask what I was thinking about, and I was grateful for it. I placed my hand over his instead, threading my fingers loosely through his while the city passed outside my window.
The radio filled whatever silence remained between us.
By the time the navigation announced we were ten minutes away, exhaustion had started creeping back in. I rested my head against the seat and watched Grant drive, his profile illuminated every few seconds beneath passing streetlights.
"Thank you for coming with me," I said eventually.
"You're welcome," he quickly glanced at me before bringing his attention back to the road.
"I'm going to be honest with you though. I can't say I'm the biggest fan of Reese right now. I know she's your friend, but I don't know. I think it's weird. I just have a weird feeling about it that I just can't shake."
I let my head fall back against the seat.
I don't disagree with him. I couldn't disagree with him even if I wanted to. I've been feeling a weird feeling about our dynamic, but I went about it all wrong.
"She's one of my best friends."
"I know."
That little bit of normalcy lasted until we turned onto the street.
I recognized the neighborhood before the navigation finished announcing it. The houses became larger and farther apart, sitting behind carefully maintained lawns and privacy gates that somehow managed to make the entire area feel even quieter at night.
I used to know exactly which windows belonged to which neighbors.
Who kept their porch lights on overnight.
Which couple two houses down fought loudly enough in their backyard that I'd once stood in my kitchen pretending not to listen.
It was strange how quickly a place could stop feeling familiar once you no longer lived there.
"Second house after the curve," I told Grant.
He slowed as we approached it.
The property came into view gradually, first the edge of the front lawn and then the house itself, most of its windows dark except for the exterior lights that automatically came on every evening.
Grant turned into the driveway.
I was reaching down to unfasten my seat belt when I looked toward the area near the front gate and stopped.
There was usually a vehicle stationed nearby whenever I was here. Sometimes I barely noticed it because the agents had gotten good at blending into the scenery, but after years of living around Secret Service, I'd learned the difference between an empty street and one that only looked empty.
Tonight, it was actually empty.
My hand remained on the seat belt.
Grant noticed too.
"There's no detail here?"
"I guess not."
I leaned slightly toward the windshield, checking farther down the street even though I already knew I wouldn't find anyone there.
Last week's headline came back to me.
Alexander and Sean.
I'd spent so much time thinking about why Rodney fired them that I hadn't considered what Alexander's removal meant practically. Someone else was running the Secret Service now. Whoever that person was, I hadn't met them.
"Maybe they changed the coverage here since no one is staying at the house anymore."
Grant looked toward the property before turning to me. "Wouldn't they know you're here?"
That was a better question.
I reached for my phone and checked it out of instinct. No missed calls. No messages from anyone on my detail.
"I don't know."
For the first time since leaving his house, retrieving Reese's bag felt like more trouble than it was worth.
I could tell her I couldn't find it.
Or come back tomorrow when I could have someone accompany me properly.