28. #3
Isabel glanced at the time on her phone and made a face. "I have to go before I'm late for class."
"You have class tonight?"
"Unfortunately."
She climbed off the bed before leaning toward me again, and this time when she hugged me, I returned it without hesitation.
"Seriously," she said near my ear. "If you ever want to talk, study, sit somewhere and not talk, whatever—you can call me."
"Thank you."
"And I'm not just saying that because you're sleeping with my brother."
I pulled back and stared at her.
Isabel grinned.
"There she is."
"Oh my God. Go to class."
She laughed as she stood, grabbing her phone from the bed. "Eat something."
"You're starting to sound like him."
"That's disgusting. Never say that to me again."
I was still smiling when she reached the door.
"Bye, Naomi."
"Bye. Be safe."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
For a little while, the room didn't feel quite as heavy.
I looked toward the plate she'd left behind.
Cooking outside had become one of my favorite things to watch Grant do. I'd sit near the grill with a drink while he cooked and we talked. Sometimes he'd hand me pieces directly from the grill because I was too impatient to wait until everything reached the table.
I knew exactly what the steak would taste like.
I knew I liked it.
My body still couldn't find any interest in eating it.
The smile Isabel had managed to pull out of me gradually faded as I lowered myself onto the pillows again. I left the plate where it was and stared toward the ceiling, telling myself I'd eat in a few minutes. Maybe once my stomach settled. Maybe once I felt awake enough.
Fifteen minutes passed before another knock came at the door.
This one opened without waiting very long for an answer.
Grant walked in wearing nothing but the slacks he'd worn to work, his belt still fastened but his shirt and undershirt gone. He looked like he'd gotten halfway through changing before deciding to check on me first.
His eyes went immediately to the plate.
Of course they did.
Then they came to me.
He didn't say anything about the food.
Grant crossed the room and stopped beside the bed, leaning down enough to brush the back of his fingers across my cheek. The gesture was so gentle that my eyes closed automatically beneath it.
When his hand lowered, I noticed his knuckles.
The bruising had disappeared, but a thin scab remained across one of them where Rodney's teeth had caught his skin when Grant punched him.
I still hadn't asked what happened after I lost consciousness.
There were pieces I knew because Grant had answered the practical questions.
He'd gotten me out. He'd brought me here.
A nurse had treated me privately and stayed through the night.
But I hadn't asked how Grant had managed to walk out of that house carrying me without Rodney stopping him.
I hadn't asked what Rodney said after I blacked out or why Grant hadn't come home with so much as a bruise beyond the damage to his knuckles.
Some part of me wasn't ready to hear the answers.
Grant sat on the edge of the bed beside me.
"How are you?"
I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
I could've lied.
I almost did.
Instead, my vision blurred, and a tear slipped sideways toward my temple before I could wipe it away.
Grant caught it with his thumb.
"I'm sorry."
I turned my head toward him. "Why are you apologizing?"
"For asking a stupid question." He rubbed his shoulder. "What can I do for you?"
A short laugh escaped me, although there wasn't much humor in it. "I'd be crazy if I asked you to do anything else for me."
His eyebrows pulled together. "That's not true."
"Grant, you've missed almost two weeks of work because of me. You're cooking for me. You had somebody come here to take care of me. You haven't let me sleep alone since it happened. I think you've done enough."
"That's not what I asked."
I looked at him.
Grant rested his hand beside my hip. "I asked what I can do for you right now."
The distinction shouldn't have affected me as much as it did.
I looked away before another tear could follow the first.
Grant watched me for a few seconds, then stood and held his hands toward me.
"Come here."
I sat up a little holding my hand out.
He pulled carefully until I was sitting upright and then closer to the edge of the mattress. Before I understood what he was doing, his arms settled around me and lifted.
I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist.
My arms followed around his neck, and I buried my face against the warm skin there while Grant adjusted his hold beneath me. He didn't carry me anywhere. He simply began walking slowly around the bedroom.
I let him.
His skin smelled faintly like soap and his cologne that remained from work, and I could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against my chest.
One of his hands stayed beneath my thigh while the other moved slowly across my back.
There was no expectation that I talk or explain why I'd spent most of the day asleep.
For several minutes, he just carried me around a dark bedroom like there was nowhere else either of us needed to be.
Eventually his voice rumbled beneath my cheek.
"What if you went for a drive?"
I lifted my head slightly. "A drive?"
"You told me that's one of your favorite things to do when you need to clear your head."
I had.
I'd forgotten I'd told him.
Grant continued walking. "You don't have to go anywhere. Get on the highway, play music, drive around for an hour. If you hate it, come home."
"I'm surprised you remember that."
He turned his face enough to look at me. "It's something that makes you feel good. Of course I remembered."
He kissed the side of my face before settling me more securely against him.
The suggestion wasn't terrible.
Actually, the longer I considered it, the more appealing it became.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd done it.
"Will you go?" Grant asked. "Just for a little while. Will you do that for me?"
I stayed against his neck for another moment before nodding.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yes."
He lowered me carefully until my feet touched the floor, waited until he knew I was steady, then patted my ass twice.
I looked at him.
Grant looked completely innocent.
"You just ruined the moment."
"I thought the moment was over."
"It was not."
"My mistake."
I rolled my eyes and walked toward the closet. "I need to do laundry before I go."
"I'll do it."
I turned around. "No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm capable of washing my own clothes."
"I know you're capable."
"Then I'll do it."
Grant leaned against the doorway. "Naomi."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Go drive. I'll put your clothes in the washing machine."
The idea of him doing one more thing for me made me uncomfortable enough that I opened my mouth to argue again, but the expression on his face told me exactly how pointless that would be.
"Fine."
"Thank you."
There wasn't much available unless I planned to go driving in one of his suits, so I grabbed a pair of his gray sweatpants and pulled them on beneath the T-shirt. The waistband immediately dropped toward my hips.
By the time I'd folded the waistband enough for the pants to stay in place, there was so much fabric gathered around my waist that I looked ridiculous. The legs pooled around my ankles, the shirt nearly reached my knees, and my curls had dried into an enormous cloud around my head.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
"I look insane."
Grant's reflection appeared behind mine.
"You look hot."
I turned my head toward him.
He didn't even smile.
"You're so corny."
That finally made him grin. "You like it though."
I tried not to smile.
The attempt lasted approximately two seconds.
"Come on."
He followed me downstairs, and by the time we reached the kitchen, I realized Grant had never seriously considered the possibility that I'd refuse his suggestion.
My water bottle sat on the island completely full. Beside it were my keys, a bag of pretzels, crackers and something else he'd apparently decided counted as a reasonable driving snack.
I shook my head, but there wasn't enough energy behind it to hide my smile.
I gathered everything from the counter before turning back toward him. For a second I considered simply saying thank you and leaving.
Instead, I put everything back down.
Grant looked confused until I opened my arms.
His expression softened immediately.
He stepped into them.
I wrapped both arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his chest. This hug felt different from the one upstairs. I wasn't collapsing into him because I couldn't hold myself up. I wasn't crying or afraid or asking him to make something stop hurting.
I just wanted to hug him.
"Thank you," I murmured.
Grant's arms tightened around me.
I had no idea how to explain everything contained inside those two words.
Thank you for staying. Thank you for leaving when I finally asked you to go to work.
Thank you for remembering stupid things I'd told you months ago.
Thank you for cooking food I hadn't eaten and washing clothes I should've been able to wash myself and somehow never making any of it feel like something I owed him for later.
His lips pressed against the top of my head.
"Your tank's full too."
I pulled back enough to look up at him. "Thank you."
He smiled and brushed one curl away from my face.
"I hope you come back feeling better."
I looked at the keys waiting on the counter.
Better felt ambitious.
But for the first time all day, leaving the bedroom didn't.
I picked the keys up and headed for the door.
The air outside felt cooler than I expected.
I stood on Grant's driveway for a few seconds after closing the front door, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants again while I looked toward my car.
I hadn't driven in two weeks. Grant had moved it from wherever he'd originally left it and parked it beside his, and seeing it waiting there created a hesitation I hadn't anticipated.