Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
By the time Blaise got home from the bake-off, she realized she was tired. Almost exhausted, really. Apparently, all of the excitement of the day had drained her. There had been some stress and nerves, too, so it made sense.
Packing up had taken some time. It felt like every baker in the tent had come over to congratulate them. It was probably more socialization than Brick had counted on, but by that point, there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Despite her tiredness, she was thrilled that Brick had won. It was validation for what he’d always known. His late wife had indeed been a fantastic baker.
She toed off her sneakers, filled a steel tumbler with ice and water, and stretched out on the couch. Beau hopped up and curled against her thigh. She gave him a little scratch, then picked up her book. Time for a little relaxation. She’d earned it today.
She opened at her bookmark and started reading, only to find that at some point she was halfway through a chapter and thinking she might never make it to the end.
It wasn’t the book’s fault. Her mind kept drifting to Brick’s stunned look when his cake took first place, to Cece, Essie, and Paige’s proud smiles in the crowd, to how good it had felt standing at that table beside him.
She rested her hand on Beau’s head and scratched behind his ears, catching sight of the time on the wall clock as she did. It was later than she’d thought.
“I have no idea what I’m having for dinner,” she murmured aloud, mostly to Beau, although she knew he wasn’t going to answer. “I should probably figure that out. I suppose there’s always salad.”
Beau lifted his head and gave a short, insistent huff.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “You will not be eating salad. Just me.”
But then he hopped down and went straight out of the living room, tail wagging like he’d suddenly had the best idea. She could hear him going through her bedroom to the back door.
Blaise sighed, slid the bookmark back into her book, and followed him. If he had to go out, he had to go out.
At least in the backyard there was no need for a leash. The sun was starting to sink, washing everything in that late-afternoon gold that made the whole world look like a movie. Beau took off toward the fence, nose to the ground.
That was when Blaise saw Brick. He was on his porch, still in the T-shirt and jeans from earlier, sitting in his usual chair as he looked out toward the yard. When he noticed her, his face brightened.
She lifted her hand in a little wave.
He smiled, then came off the porch and walked over to the fence between them. He gave her a nod and directed his smile at Beau, who was wagging his tail for all he was worth.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself,” she replied. “How’s it feel to be the winner?”
He shook his head. “Still hasn’t quite sunk in.”
She grinned. She’d been doing a lot of that today. “That cake deserved the win. Your wife would be so proud.”
“She would. Glad the judges agreed.”
They stood there talking about the bake-off, reliving it the way people did when something had gone well and there was no rush to move on from it. Beau did his best to sniff Brick through the fence, then returned to the circuit of his own yard. He lifted his leg and let one of the bushes have it.
Brick started to say something else, then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and frowned. “It’s Holland.”
Blaise felt a small tightening in her chest and waited. Holland had accused her of being after his father for money, and despite the fact that Brick said he’d straightened things out, she couldn’t help but wonder what Holland really thought.
Brick lifted the phone to his ear. “Son?”
She couldn’t hear what was being said, only the way Brick’s posture changed almost immediately. His shoulders straightened and his free hand gripped the fence like he needed something solid to hang on to.
“Say that again, ma’am,” he said. “And slow down.”
Blaise took a step closer to the fence. Something was going on.
Brick turned slightly away, paced once, then came back, his eyes locking onto Blaise’s. “He’s at the hospital now?”
Whatever the answer was, it had wiped the color from Brick’s face. A sick feeling filled Blaise’s stomach.
“Okay,” he said, voice quiet. “I’m coming.”
He ended the call and Blaise immediately asked, “What is it?”
Brick stood there for a beat, phone still in his hand like it might tell him more if he stared at it long enough.
“Holland’s been in a car accident,” he said, his voice not quite as steady as it usually was. “They took him to the ER. I was listed on his phone as his emergency contact. The woman who called says he’s okay, but—”
“But you don’t know,” Blaise said.
“No. Gotta go to the hospital.”
“You’re not going alone,” she said, already moving.
He looked at her. “Blaise—”
“I’m serious,” she said. “You don’t need to sit in a waiting room by yourself.” She’d done that more times than she could count when Jay had been sick. It was miserable.
He hesitated, just long enough for her to see how much the offer meant. Then he nodded. “Okay.”
“Let me put Beau in and I’ll be right back.
” She scooped Beau up and slipped inside long enough to set him down and grab her purse and a jacket.
When she came back out, Brick was already around front at his truck, keys in hand, standing tall but with a look that said he was holding himself together through sheer will.
“You want me to follow you in my own car?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Ride with me.”
She didn’t argue.
They got in, the cab quiet except for the sound of the engine as Brick pulled out of the driveway a little faster than usual. Blaise kept her hands folded in her lap, not trying to fill the silence with questions he couldn’t answer.
Finally, she said, “You mind if I text the girls? Let them know? Essie will pray. I know her.”
Brick kept his eyes on the road but nodded. She sent a quick text, promising an update when she could.
As the houses faded behind them and the road stretched out ahead, Blaise thought briefly of the book still open on her couch, of the dinner she’d been debating.
None of that was important anymore. What mattered was that Holland was all right. And
that Brick wouldn’t have to face this alone.
Brick parked, barely turning the engine off before they were out of the truck and walking fast toward the entrance. Inside, the hospital lights were bright and unforgiving. They made everything feel more antiseptic than it already was.
The smell hit Blaise immediately, reminding her of memories she wished she didn’t have. The ER was busy but thankfully not chaotic. Just full of the constant movement, people who all had somewhere they needed to be.
Brick gave Holland’s name at the desk. Blaise stood a step back, letting him do whatever he needed to.
The woman behind the counter checked the screen, nodded once. “He’s been taken back,” she said. “You can have a seat. A doctor will come talk to you as soon as they can.”
“How long?” Brick asked.
“I don’t know,” she said kindly. “But we’ll update you if there’s news.”
Brick nodded and stepped away, his jaw tight, pain filling his eyes. Blaise followed him to the row of plastic chairs along the wall. They sat side by side, close enough that their arms touched. Brick seemed to be somewhere else.
Minutes passed. Or maybe longer. Blaise wasn’t sure.
A television mounted high in the corner played a game show with the sound muted. Someone coughed down the row. A man paced near the vending machines, stopping every few steps to check his phone.
Brick stared straight ahead, his thoughts going to some dark places, she was sure.
Blaise glanced at him, then down at her hands. She wasn’t going to ask how he was feeling. She was a parent to a son. She could imagine. Instead, she stayed still and let him be. If he wanted to talk, he would. Probably.
Every so often, Brick shifted in his chair, crossing his arms, then uncrossing them. Once, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, then sat back again like he couldn’t find a position that felt comfortable.
“They said he was conscious,” he said finally, almost to himself.
“That’s good,” Blaise said.
“Bet he was embarrassed,” Brick added. “He’d be annoyed at the fuss.”
She looked at him. “That sounds like him. Sounds like you, too, actually.”
Brick gave a short huff that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah.”
“He’s going to be all right,” she said quietly.
Brick gave a little nod, then they went quiet again.
Blaise watched the automatic doors slide open and closed, watched people coming and going. Waiting rooms had a way of shrinking time down to its smallest unit. Seconds ticked by, impossibly slow. Minutes took a lifetime. Nothing happened when you wanted it to.
She leaned a little closer. Just enough so Brick would know she was still there.
And together, they waited.