27. #4
I wiped it away quickly with my free hand.
Grant didn't mention it.
His thumb moved slowly across mine instead.
I drew in a shaky breath and was still trying to decide whether I could speak without crying when a knock sounded from downstairs.
Both of us looked toward the doorway.
Grant's expression tightened slightly before he checked the time again.
"Probably Isabel."
I remembered enough about what day it was to understand. She usually worked out here.
Grant started to stand.
"I don't really want anyone..." I started to speak but stopped.
He stopped.
I hated how weak my voice sounded.
My eyes dropped toward the blanket. "To see me like this."
Grant nodded immediately. There was no hesitation, no attempt to convince me that Isabel wouldn't care.
"I understand. I'll tell her today's not good."
He released my hand and started walking towards the door.
Guilt arrived almost immediately.
"Wait."
Grant turned.
"I don't want to inconvenience her. You're her brother, and she came all the way over here." I pushed the blanket down. "I'll just go upstairs while she works out."
I planted my palm against the couch.
The first attempt barely lifted me.
My arm began shaking again, and before I could try a second time Grant was back beside me.
"Naomi, no."
"I can get upstairs."
"You can barely sit up."
"I don't want her to have come here for nothing."
"She'll survive missing one day at the gym."
He pulled the blanket back over my legs before I could protest again.
"Don't get up without me. Please."
The please stopped me more effectively than anything else.
I sank back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted from an attempt that hadn't even gotten me off the couch.
"Okay."
Grant waited until he was satisfied I wasn't going to try again before heading toward the front of the house.
I pulled the blanket higher, covering myself almost to my chin. I could hear his footsteps moving through the foyer, followed by the muted sound of the front door opening.
Then nothing.
I waited for Isabel's voice.
It never came.
A few seconds passed before I heard the door close again.
That was strange.
"Grant?"
No answer.
I shifted against the pillows, trying to see beyond the edge of the living room without moving enough to make my head hurt.
"Grant?"
Grant reappeared a few moments later, but instead of continuing toward the couch, he stopped near the entrance to the living room.
The expression he'd left with was gone, replaced by something much harder to read.
His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, and although he seemed to be making an effort to keep whatever he was feeling away from his face, I knew him well enough now to recognize when he was angry.
"That's not Isabel. It's Reese."
My fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket before I could stop them.
I hadn't allowed myself to think too deeply about Reese since waking up.
Every time my mind moved in that direction, I found some way to pull it back to something easier: the pain in my head, the IV taped to my arm, Grant missing work, even the glass of water sitting on the table beside me.
Anything was easier than following the obvious connection between Reese insisting I go to the house and Rodney sitting in our bedroom already knowing that I would eventually walk through the door.
There were explanations I could've created for the purse. Reese could've genuinely needed it. Rodney could've happened to be at the house. Even the missing security could probably be explained if I tried hard enough. What I couldn't explain was Rodney's face when I walked into that room.
He'd been waiting.
That meant somebody had told him I was coming, and Reese was the only person who knew.
"Do you want to see her?"
I looked back at Grant. His voice was careful, giving nothing away beyond the question itself, but his body did a worse job of hiding how he felt.
He hadn't come back to tell me Reese was here because he intended to invite her inside.
He was standing there waiting for me to decide whether she crossed the threshold of his home at all, and judging by the tension still sitting across his shoulders, I had a feeling he was hoping my answer would be no.
I understood why.
Honestly, I didn't want to see her either.
Maybe Reese had an explanation. I desperately wanted there to be one, because accepting the alternative meant accepting that someone who had known me since college, someone who knew what Rodney had done to me and had watched me cry over that man more times than I could count,
had deliberately found a way to send me back to him.
I wasn't ready to hear an explanation while I was still lying beneath a blanket because I couldn't stand without help.
I especially wasn't ready to look at her face and wonder how much she'd known when she sent those messages.
But I couldn't look at her while I was lying here like this.
"I don't think I want to see her right now."
Grant nodded once.
"Okay."
No questions.
No attempt to tell me what he thought I should do.
He turned and headed back toward the door.
This time, when he opened it, Reese's voice carried far enough into the house for me to hear.
"I know you guys are upset, but please, Grant. Just let me explain."
My eyes closed.
Her voice sounded strained.
Grant's response was lower, forcing me to listen harder.
"Naomi doesn't want to see you."
"Can you at least ask her?"
"I did."
A pause followed.
"I didn't know he was going to hurt her."
My eyes opened.
For a moment, I forgot about the pain in my head.
Reese continued before Grant could respond, speaking faster now. "I swear to God, Grant, just let me talk to her I'll explain everything."
Grant was quiet long enough that I wondered if he'd lowered his voice beyond what I could hear.
Then Reese spoke again.
"Please. She's been my best friend for years. I know she's mad at me, and she has every right to be, but I need her to hear my side. Just give me five minutes."
When Grant answered, his voice was controlled.
"You're standing at my door telling me you knowingly lied to her so you could get her into a house with a man you knew she was afraid of."
"I didn't know what he was going to do."
"You would have to think I'm really dumb to believe that."
Silence.
I stared at the ceiling.
That distinction settled somewhere inside me with painful clarity.
Whatever Reese hadn't known, she'd known enough.
"Please just tell her I love her," Reese said eventually. Her voice cracked slightly. "Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I want to explain everything when she's ready. Please."
Grant didn't answer immediately.
When he finally did, there was no anger in his voice. Somehow, that made it sound colder.
"Take care of yourself, Reese."
The door closed.
His footsteps moved back toward me, but I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
I didn't cry.
I didn't ask him what she'd said, because I'd heard enough.
And for right now, enough was all I could handle.