More silence.
Someone moved.
I waited, wondering what to do. I was so damn uncomfortable I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Naomi had talked about the show-no-weaknesses understanding she shared with Monica, and I was definitely invading their privacy. Hearing Monica pour out her heart only made me want to help her more, and I wasn’t sure she’d appreciate that spurring my motivation.
“I had it all—everything I’ve ever wanted—and a goddamn delivery truck driver took it away.” The anguish in Monica’s voice tore through me. I’d never heard such raw sorrow in my life. I wanted to be the one holding her, the one she was confiding in, and that realization shook me. “And I can’t even hate him. He’s a good guy,” she sobbed. “I did everything right. I worked my ass off, and I loved my life, and now… I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Naomi sounded like she was crying, as well. “We’ll solve this, I promise. But don’t think these waterworks are getting you off the hook. I hope your pity party was fun, but this shit ends now.”
“That’s our cue,” Mrs. Johnson said, grabbing my hand. Tugging me into the doorway behind her, she cleared her throat. “You better watch your mouth in my house. Both of you.”
It didn’t matter that they were grown adults who’d seen more combat than any person should, they both apologized, sounding sufficiently sorry.
“Both of you need Jesus. You’re in mixed company now; try to act like ladies.” Clicking her tongue, Mrs. Johnson walked away, abandoning me in the doorway.
“Stocks?” Monica asked as she met my gaze. “What are you doing here?”
Seated on the floor, she was partially hidden by the dresser, so I stepped in and let my gaze sweep over her body, taking in the damage. Her stunning face had been scarred, and her left arm ended at the elbow. She was thinner than I remembered, practically drowning in the yoga pants and baggy T-shirt she wore. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, and her damp hair was out of its braids and down in tight curls that went barely past her shoulder blades.
She still took my breath away.
Her beauty had changed. The scar gave her an edge, and the haunted look in her eyes spoke of pain and suffering. I hadn’t seen the woman in months, and her life had fallen apart, but neither time nor tragedy had made her any less attractive. If she asked me to follow her again, I would in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t even matter where we were going.
Nervous and feeling even more out of place than I had been with eavesdropping, I waved like an idiot, and then immediately regretted the action and dropped my hand to my side. “Hi.”
“Um.” Naomi stood. “I… Uh… So, Stocks came with me. Your mom said the insurance company replaced your car, so I figured he could drive it up to Seattle so you’ll have it.”
Something between a gasp and a snort came from Monica as her head whipped around to glare at Naomi. “I. Can. Fucking. Drive. Myself.” Fire and brimstone eked out of each word, making me take a step back.
“How would you know? Your mom said you’ve barely been out of bed since you made it to Portland. I tried to call you to confirm, but you didn’t feel the need to pick up your damn phone, so I had no clue what shape you’d be in or what pain killers you’re on,” Naomi fired back.
“Fine. I should have called you. Get over it. But when you stepped into my room, maybe you should have led with, ‘Hey that hot guy you picked up at my party is here, you might not want to unravel into a pathetic mess.’ Thanks for havin’ my back, Nae.” Monica stared at the ceiling. “Un-fucking-believable.”
I took two key points from her statement. One, she thought I was hot. Two, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me. It had promise, but wasn’t the reception I was hoping for. “I can wait in the car.”
“No. It’s fine,” Monica said, but the look on her face said otherwise. She stood and marched out of the room without another word. I’d love to explore the details of how hot she thought I was, but could almost see the impenetrable fortress around her that Mrs. Johnson had mentioned. It would take some work before we got to that point.
Naomi blew out a breath. “She’ll be fine; she just needs to cool off. Help me get these suitcases closed.” She gestured to the luggage collection lined up along Monica’s bed.
Monica had more clothes and shoes than anyone I’d ever known. She’d stuffed her suitcases so full closing them was a two-person job. I sat on them to squish the clothes down while Naomi worked the zippers. Once everything was as contained as possible, we rolled the suitcases out and loaded them in Naomi’s car.
“Shouldn’t we be putting these in Monica’s rig?” I asked.
“No. This is insurance that she’ll actually make it to the clubhouse. She’ll never abandon her clothes and shoes. By the way, I don’t care what she says, you’re riding with her, so be prepared to make that happen.”
Before I could ask how I was expected to force a grown woman into letting me tag along, Naomi disappeared back into the house. Moments later, she returned with Monica and Mrs. Johnson. Monica was glaring daggers at both of them. She hugged her mother, and then marched to the candy apple red Acura in the driveway and slipped behind the wheel.
“Have fun with that,” Mrs. Johnson said, hugging Naomi goodbye. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’ll look after her,” Naomi promised. “She’ll be okay. I’ll keep you updated.”
“Good. Give me a moment with this young man, please.”
Naomi gave us a questioning look. “Okay. I need to have one more little chat with Ms. Monie Love before we hit the road anyway.” She hurried to the Acura and sat in the passenger’s seat.
Mrs. Johnson watched the two of them, shaking her head. “Best thing Monica ever did was finding a friend who’s just as stubborn as she is. You might have to play referee until the two of them hash this out.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
