Thirty-One
She almost forgot. In the midst of the levity and light that is Wes’s presence, she almost forgot her clinic was damaged. She almost forgot she was going to be the one to save it.
Now it’s too late.
Her phone call with Victoria is brief. There aren’t a lot of answers to the dozens of questions Charlie has, and Victoria has to make a dozen more phone calls to other staff. She hangs up with the promise to check back in later.
Phone loosely clasped in her hand, Charlie stares into her bowl of mac and cheese, no longer hungry. An odd numbness comes over her, commingled with a desire to claw off her skin.
“Charlie.” Wes kneels next to her chair and takes her hand. “What happened?”
She lifts her gaze, focusing on him. “The board is going to sell.”
Wes frowns. “But the insurance claim hasn’t come back yet. It’s been less than a day.”
Charlie shrugs. “It’s not uncommon for businesses to fail after fires, even though this one was pretty minor by comparison.
They seem to think there will be too much lost revenue during the time needed for repairs.
Victoria thinks they were always going to sell regardless of what we raised at the expo.
She thinks they were just placating her and biding their time.
” She releases a shuddering breath and closes her eyes.
“It’s hard to resist the allure of a very lucrative buyout. ”
When Wes says nothing, she rests her head in her hand, pressing her palm into her right eye as the oncoming throb of a migraine makes itself known.
“What will happen with the expo?” he asks.
She rolls her head in her hand, blinking at him. “Victoria still wants to do it. But what’s the point?”
“Charlie, don’t say that. You’ve worked so hard, and it can still be a huge success.”
“Why, though?”
He looks thoughtful. “You said there are a lot of other clinics across the country that are struggling like yours. Raise the money for them. Keep them open so their communities can benefit.”
“What’s the point of trying to do any good in the world if the rich hold all the power because they can use their money to make anything they want happen? Corporations, politicians, religious groups. They simply throw money at things and force people to do what they want—”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Wes frames her face with his steady, capable hands, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. “We’re not going to do that. We’re not going to go all nihilist right now, okay?”
She glares at him, which only makes him smile. How dare he know her well enough to keep her from spiraling into despair?
He presses his lips to her forehead, her temple, and she leans into his touch, basking in the solid surety of him.
Standing, he takes her hands and pulls her to her feet. “Come sit with me for a second.”
She wants nothing more than to collapse into bed and pull the covers over her head.
But she accepts his hand, and he leads her to the couch.
Pulling her down next to him, his strong arms wrap around her, tugging her against his chest. She breathes in his scent—fresh laundry and eucalyptus—and they sit in companionable silence for several minutes, his hand rubbing soothing circles over her back.
She’s grateful he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with weak reassurances and false optimism.
“What do you need?” he asks, his voice a low rumble in her ear.
“You,” she replies automatically.
His arms tighten.
“I don’t know where to go from here,” she whispers. “I worked so hard for nothing.”
“It wasn’t for nothing,” he insists.
She doesn’t respond. He keeps rubbing her back, and she picks at a loose stitch on one of the throw pillows. If she tugs on it, will it unravel like all her plans?
“Can’t wait to tell my mother her prayers were answered. One abortion clinic down. Praise be to God and all that rot.”
He huffs out a laugh. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”
“Obviously, but she’s going to gloat about it anyway.”
He squeezes her closer. “I’m sorry.”
Tears leak out of her eyes, and she’s grateful. She hasn’t gone completely numb.
He keeps rubbing a steady rhythm on her back while she silently cries into his shirt. After a few minutes, he draws back, tipping her chin up with his fingers.
“I love you, Charlie,” he whispers. “I want you to achieve everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
She frowns. “Wes—”
“I’m going to ask my dad to buy the clinic.”
She sits up, sucking in a sharp breath. “You can’t.”
“I want to. I would do anything for you—you have to know that. This would be a drop in the bucket for him.”
“Oh, great,” she scoffs. “Another wealthy white man throwing money at a situation. Do you know how out of touch that sounds?”
He sits up straighter, his face flashing with irritation. “You just said people with money and power make change—”
“But I don’t want that! Especially knowing what it will cost you!”
He smiles at her, resignation in his eyes. “It’s worth it to me.”
She should be happy he’s offering. But if Gabriel agrees, Wes will lose his autonomy to decide his own future, and she can’t feel anything except despair about that.
“I don’t want you to be like him,” she whispers. She doesn’t mean to say it, knowing the comparison between himself and his father is something he fears, but she’s too distraught to temper her words.
A flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes. “I won’t be. I’m not afraid of him. I’m more afraid of losing you.”
“You have me,” she insists. “That has nothing to do with the clinic.”
“Why won’t you let me take care of you?”
She stares at him, his words overwhelming.
He takes her hand. “You are always so strong. So capable and independent. And I love that about you. But you don’t always have to do everything on your own.
Let me take care of you. This is something I can fix, Charlie.
It will ensure that the clinic stays open and people continue receiving the care they deserve.
Don’t you see? Good can still come of this, even if it means I’ll have to work for that asshole for the rest of his life. ”
She shakes her head even before he finishes. “I don’t want you to be miserable because of me.”
“This is my choice.” He presses his lips to her palm.
Tears fill her eyes, but she swipes them away, refusing to let them fall. Her mind spins; he’s willing to give away his chance of doing something fulfilling with his life for her. “It’s not worth it.”
He kisses her, his touch reassuring, and despite everything, she feels the truth of his words, his determination.
“It is to me.” Tangling his fingers in her hair, he drags his nose down her cheek before brushing a kiss along her jaw.
When he pulls back, he looks at her with sincerity mixed with misery and adoration—a heartbreakingly beautiful combination.
“I know how much you hate giving up control, but I promise it will all work out.”
She looks at him, a hollow ache in her chest. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Half an hour later, Syeda ambles through the front door dressed in workout gear and running shoes. She pauses when she spots Charlie curled up on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest.
She slips off her shoes and crosses the room. “Who do I need to fight?”
Charlie lifts her gaze; she’s been trying to watch mind-numbing reality TV since Wes left fifteen minutes ago and not think about him calling his dad. “The patriarchy.”
Sy arches a brow, folding elegantly into a pigeon stretch. “Did he hurt you?”
Charlie sits up, tugging on her bun. “No.”
“Then why do you look like someone died?”
Charlie’s horrified when the tears she’s kept at bay finally fall. She covers her face with her hands.
The couch dips, and Sy pulls her into her arms. “Oh, babes. Come here.”
She basks in the warmth and her best friend’s familiar scent—lemon verbena mixed with sweat, but not unpleasant.
Her guilt flares when she realizes she hasn’t shared the details of what’s happened between her and Wes.
She owes Syeda a long-overdue explanation, especially given Wes’s appearance at their door that afternoon.
But it’s a testament to their friendship and Sy’s endless patience that she hasn’t probed further, allowing Charlie to explain in her own time.
Her bout of crying leaves her wrung out but a little more stable. Drawing back, she wipes her cheeks with her palms, reining in the last of her tears with a deep, steadying breath.
Sy peers at her with concern. “Is it the clinic?” Charlie already relayed the news about the fire when she arrived home a few hours earlier.
In a dull voice, she explains the board’s decision before admitting what Wes is doing.
Sy’s frown deepens, mixing with confusion. “But…why? Don’t get me wrong, what you’re doing is incredible and important, but why would Wes do that?”
Charlie’s face heats before she flashes her friend a small, rueful smile. “Because he loves me.”
Syeda listens with rapt attention as Charlie confesses to all that has transpired between her and Wes since that fateful day when she lied to Nash about sleeping with him.
She gasps and laughs in all the right places and softens when Charlie tells her about Wes’s unexpected appearance at their door on New Year’s Eve.
By the time Charlie arrives at Gabriel’s offer and what Wes did after he found out, Sy appears impressed.
“What’s that look for?” Charlie asks.
Her best friend shrugs. “I guess I was wrong about him. Especially if he’s willing to go back to his asshole dad.”
Charlie picks at the loose thread on the throw pillow again. “I don’t want him to do that, though.”
Sy takes her hands, gently pulling her fingers away from the innocent pillow. “It’s okay to let people do things for you. It sounds like he wants to do this.”
“What if he regrets it and resents me?”
“Then he doesn’t deserve you,” Syeda declares, righteous vehemence in her words. “He wants you to succeed. He wants you to achieve everything you’ve ever wanted. You’re allowed to have a partner, someone who understands you and treats you the way you deserve to be treated.”
Charlie leans back against the couch, Sy’s hand still in hers. “Is that how you feel with Bri?”
Something flickers across her friend’s face, but it’s gone before Charlie can study it. “Mostly, yes. She’s still figuring things out with her family, and I want to be there for her, but sometimes it feels harder than it needs to.”
Charlie rests her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
Syeda kisses her temple. “Of course.” Then she rests her cheek on her palm and studies Charlie for several long seconds.
Charlie arches a brow.
Sy raises both of hers.
Charlie’s face heats.
Sy’s mouth curls into a beautiful smile. “Are we going to talk about it?”
Despite everything, Charlie laughs.
Sy wiggles her brows. “Did someone get their cherry popped last night?”
“Oh my god!” Charlie chucks the throw pillow at her head. “No one says that!”
“You laughed, though.”
A surge of adoration fills her chest; she is so deeply grateful for the luck that brought Syeda into her life freshman year.
“Yes.” Charlie makes it a point not to look away. “I had sex last night.”
Sy curls her legs under her. “And?”
“I thought you didn’t approve.”
Sy gestures to her. “Like I told you before, you are smart and rational, so I figure that whatever is happening between you two makes sense for you. And you’re positively glowing, so I’m assuming it was satisfactory.”
Charlie shakes her head in amusement. “It was.”
Sy winks. “And he made you come?”
Charlie blushes, but she doesn’t fight her grin. “More than once.”
“Oh, good man. I may not swing for him, but objectively, he’s attractive.”
“An enthusiastic endorsement if ever there was one,” Charlie deadpans. Despite her grief over the clinic and her conflicted emotions about Wes’s decision, this small bit of normalcy—exchanging sex stories with her best friend—is a welcome reprieve.
Syeda squeezes her hand. “I love you, Charlie. You’re not alone, you know. You don’t have to do everything by yourself. You have people who love and care about you and want to support you.”
Charlie squeezes back. She doesn’t know what lies ahead, but she’s grateful for the knowledge that family doesn’t have to be blood related.