“That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, well. That’s insurance for you.” I shake my head. Tanner’s eyes dance with an idea. “What’s that look?”
“Nothing,” he says. “How much do lifts cost?”
“I’m not answering that question because the only reason you would need to know that is if you were going to purchase one.”
He chuckles, and the butterflies swoop. Something deep down tells me he’s not going to listen to me, and while I would never expect him to help, I know a new lift would be life-changing for my family.
CHAPTER 21: JUST BE FUCKING COOL
TANNER
Ican’t help but think about how easy it would be for me to buy Cody a new lift. I mean, I’m fit, but I don’t even think I could lift him multiple times a day, seven days a week, without it eventually taking a toll on my body. I’m not sure how her parents are managing.
Wren might be stubborn, but I have a sneaky suspicion that when it comes to Cody, she’d let down her walls. So, I make a mental note to ask Gray about the lift.
“Are your parents art collectors?” I ask, gesturing towards a painting of a house hanging on the wall.
The interior of their house is a bit eclectic, with mismatched furniture, handmade throws, lots of plants, and where there aren't family pictures hanging, there’s art. Some of the pieces are more traditional, like this one in the hall, but others are like the one in Cody’s room—whimsical and fun.
“If collectingmyart makes them art collectors, then I guess you could call them that,” she says with a laugh.
“You painted that?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I painted all of it.”
“You painted all of it? Even the superhero piecein Cody’s room?”
“Yep, that one is my favorite, and he obviously loves it too.” She checks the time on her phone. “Do you want to finish the movie? I’m sure my parents will be back soon.”
“Oh, um…sure.” I run my hands through my hair.
We walk back into the living room, and I take a moment to really look at the art. Painted wildflowers, a beach scene, a portrait of her parents, and even a Christmas tree are all painted on various size canvases and hung around the house. Each one is unique, and it’s clear she’s incredibly talented.
One catches my attention more than the others. It’s a small canvas, simple black and white. It’s of a girl curled up in the corner of a room crying. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful.
“I knew you said you painted, but I didn’t know you painted like this,” I point to the small canvas.
“It’s really just a hobby,” she says, sitting back on the couch. “That one I painted right after I started therapy. My therapist encouraged me to paint what I was feeling after Cody’s fall. It really helped me cope with everything.”
“You’re incredible.” The words tumble with honesty from my mouth. It’s safe to say I’m falling hard for her. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s kind, patient, funny, nurturing, loving, and smart. She is every good adjective there ever was, and I’m just me.
She swallows hard and sits in the recliner, so I take the couch.
It’s clear why someone like her could barely tolerate me for so long. I used to think we could never be more because I’d fuck it up and risk damaging our friend group, but the reality is that she is so far out of my league we aren’t even in the same universe. She deserves a smart, successful doctor—someone who has a job that helps people and knows her brother needs his chicken cut up. Not the nepo baby who wishes he could own a bar and likes to party.
No, the best I’m going to be able to do is be her friend, and given how fast she moved away from the couch when ourlegs brushed earlier, I know she thinks it too. The realization hits me straight in the chest. She’s too good for me, and I wish so badly I could be the man she deserves.
“Is art something you get to do a lot in your job?” I ask.
“Not a lot,” she says, her face falling a little. “But, as the activities director, I get to do all sorts of things with the residents who live there, and some of that is art.” There is no enthusiasm in her voice, no joy. It’s such a stark difference to when she told me about the brain injury camps in the car.
“Do you like it?”
“Being the activities director?” She pulls her legs to her chest and covers herself with a chunky, crocheted quilt. “It pays the bills, and helps me save for what I really want to do, so I’m thankful to have a job.”
“You don’t have to be like that with me?”
