“You sure?”
Drea nodded.“Go.I need a nap.”
Trent and Harper hugged Drea and left.
The house was silent, so very different from the rest of the day.Drea hadn’t sat down since breakfast.She’d been focused to the point of collapse.
“Leave this.Come with me for a minute.”Cujo took her hand gently and walked her through the house to the wooden steps leading to the garden.Weeds stood tall, fence panels were missing, and the concrete patio was cracked and broken in places.
“Just so you know,” he said, sitting on the steps and pulling Drea with him.“I’m glad my first impression of you was wrong.”
Drea laughed and leaned against him, her body warm.“Do I want to know what your first impression actually was?”
“Not really.I kind of want to get laid tonight.Or now.Or somewhere in between.”
“I think I was wrong about you, too.”She turned her face up to his, and he couldn’t resist kissing her.
“What are you going to do now, Shortcake?Everyone seems to think you’re going to leave.”
Drea sighed.“I honestly don’t know.For the longest time, I’ve wanted to move.I was so young when I started to look after Mom, and now I don’t really know what to do without her.Honestly though, I can’t afford to do anything yet.”
He wrapped his arm around her.“I know this is all new.You and me.But—” He hoped he didn’t scare the shit out of her.“When you do decide what you want to do, can we figure out where we’d do it together?”
“You’d leave Miami?”She sounded surprised.
“Wouldn’t be my first choice, but if it was a toss-up between staying in Miami without you or being with you, you win.”And it was the truth.The idea of leaving his brothers, Trent, the shop weighed heavily, but it was nothing compared to the blow torch that burned in his gut when he thought of Drea leaving Miami without him.
“You’re not going soft on me, are you, Brody?”
He shrugged, deliberately nonchalant.“No, I actually think I’m going hard.”
“You really like me, huh?”Yeah, and maybe he should use the much more volatile L-word.
“Yeah, Shortcake, I do.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On autopilot, Drea woke to the sound of her alarm clock and started to run through the chores for her day off, tasks that were piled higher than the dishes at José’s.Getting a load of laundry in was first up.She’d strip the beds, starting with her mom’s because—
The grief hit her in a wave.Yesterday’s funeral.A startling, consuming remembrance that her mom wasn’t here anymore.She wasn’t in the makeshift bedroom on the first floor, bemoaning the noise levels of the decrepit oxygen tank.She wasn’t in the kitchen complaining that they were running low on juice.She wasn’t in front of the television, explaining why she needed access to another forty-seven cable channels.There would be no gripes today.Only the solitary silence of an empty house.She was alone.
Drea curled into the fetal position under the comforter.Without the urgency her mother provided, there was no real reason to get out of bed.The thought scared her.It would be so easy to sleep late.To stay in pajamas all day seemed indulgent.Today she had the opportunity to remain ensconced in the warm comforter, yet it seemed depressingly bleak.
The bedding could wait.The fridge contained enough food to see her through the next few days.Hell, even her belief that dust exacerbated her mom’s condition no longer mattered.
She’d waited years for the day when she could have the luxury of choosing what to do for a whole twenty-four hours.Now that it was here, Drea had no clue what to do with it.
Sitting up, Drea decided upon breakfast.She wandered down the stairs, missing the silent hiss and fizz of the oxygen tank.The portable bed was pushed up against the wall, stripped of its bedding.Drea’s eyes prickled with tears.She brushed them aside.
The kitchen was spotless.She popped two slices of bread into the toaster and started to make coffee.Decisions needed to be made on the house.She prayed that they weren’t in a negative equity situation.Perhaps she should give the real estate agent a call today.Or continue the cleanup she’d started the day her mom died.At some point, she needed to get rid of her mom’s things, but that seemed too final.
The toast popped up from the toaster and Drea grabbed it.Moments later, she sat down on the rickety breakfast bar stools.She stared at the half-empty jar of peanut butter sitting in its usual spot on the counter.
What had she liked to do?The last time she’d experienced any real spare time, she’d been fifteen.Eminem had been trying to lose himself, Justin Timberlake had been crying a river, and Drea had been beside herself over the end ofBuffy The Vampire Slayer.
The truth hit her—she had no clue what she liked.When her mom first got sick, it had been less painful to simply stop thinking about all the things her friends were doing.Somewhere along the way, she’d lost sense of where her mom started and where Drea ended.
Drea finished eating, rinsed the dishes, and headed back upstairs.A shower and change of clothes did nothing to change her mood.It was ten minutes before nine.She wandered back down the stairs.
