***
The look on her face said it all.It hadn’t occurred to her.Of all the foolish…
“Christ, Drea.What were you thinking?”He studied her face, looking for a clue to her beyond-reckless behavior.“You could have ended up hurt.Or arrested.”
Her hair was pulled back in a simple braid, so different from the woman who looked like a fucking mermaid when she rode him, all that hair cascading down her back.It made her look younger.Harder to read.
The previous evening had provided plenty of time to think about her, and them.Their timing sucked balls, but he couldn’t imagine them not figuring their differences out.
Yes, he’d been angry last night.Angry because she wasted time by not calling the cops, and because she decided what she thought was best forhisfamily.It got his back up, yet in hindsight, she’d been the sole person making decisions aboutherfamily for years.Old habits were hard to kill.But now that Donwasinvolved, it was only a matter of time before they knew what his mom was doing in Miami.
“The truth is I wasn’t thinking,” Drea said softly.“And I don’t think I have been for a while.”
There was a pure melancholy to her words, and despite their disagreement, Cujo realized this was about much more than what happened over the last twenty-four hours.
“Talk to me, Shortcake.”He leaned back on the sofa, pulling her back with him.
They sat in silence.He’d learned to give her the time she needed to open up to him.
“I’m losing my way.I’m on some weird fucking autopilot.”
The whispered words broke his heart.
“What do you mean?”Large tears spilled over her eyelashes and formed watery tracks over her cheeks.Her vulnerability snapped against his chest like industrial elastic.
“I’m losing myself.Or maybe I lost myself a long time ago.Taking care of mom filled all the holes I had.It didn’t matter whatIwanted.WhoIwanted to be, whereIwanted to go.All that mattered was finding a job I could fit in around school to take care of Rosa.”
More tears fell.This was the bottom he’d been waiting for.She’d been so busy with life, the jobs, the funeral, she’d not grieved properly.He grabbed the box of tissues from the desk and placed it between them.
“And now?”he asked, resisting the urge to pull her into his lap.She wouldn’t appreciate it.Unlike any girl he’d ever known, she needed space to share her deepest feelings.
“I’m so scared of the holes.I’m filling them with anything I can to avoid having to really think about my life… Lynn, the fracking stuff, breaking into a fucking guest room.”Drea began to sob, hard wracking sobs that cut through to his very soul.“Even you.”
Even him?He reached for her, crushing her against his chest.Tears pricked his own eyes, as she shook in his arms.The sobs had turned to gasps.Hearing her fight to breathe as the sorrow flooded out of her left him feeling helpless.How did you help someone you love through a grief so violent they were choking on it?
Fists grabbed his T-shirt as she held on for dear life.He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, murmured words meant to calm, but the tears continued.A storm raged inside her, dark and tumultuous, and they wouldn’t be the same until it blew over.
Almost as quickly as they had started, the tears subsided.Only the breathless hiccoughs remained as she attempted to steady her breathing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pushing away from him.Two dark circles of tears stained his T-shirt, not that he gave a fuck.
“Don’t be,” he said earnestly.“I want to be here for you, Shortcake.”
At the use of her nickname, she stiffened and grabbed a tissue to blow her nose, then another to wipe the smeared mascara from her cheeks.
“I appreciate that, Brody.But I’ve come to tell you I can’t let you.”
Wait.What?This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.“Why not?”
Drea sniffed.“I need to figure this out on my own.I have to get out of the cycle of filling the holes with anything available.I need to figure out what my life looks like, for me.And I don’t think I can do that while I am in a relationship with you.Or with anyone.”
“No, Drea.Come on.This is just the last twenty-four hours talking.We can get through this together.”Couldn’t they?They were just finding their rhythm.That’s all.
Drea started to cry, again.“I’m not in a good place, Brody.For us to work, I need to come to you whole.Not in pieces, expecting you to be the glue.”
Through the pain of her words echoed a fragment of truth.One he wasn’t ready to fully accept.
“Look, Shortcake, let me take you home.You need some rest.I’ll let José know you aren’t feeling great.We’ll do a movie marathon and I’ll cook—”
