His eyes flick to mine, but I don’t have the courage to look back at him, so I continue, “You love them so much, you wanted to be able to take away some of their worry, to lessen that for them, even if it meant not speaking up when you needed something.”
I swallow hard, keeping my concentration on his hands. I flip his broad palm over, letting the back of it rest in one hand and I place my other over his. I line us up, fingertip to fingertip, smiling when I see the vast difference in our size. “I think you are incredible, Grayson Hart. You are the type of man they write books about.” He scoffs alittle at that, but I keep going. This time, I let myself look at him, to see the vulnerability on his face that is likely mirrored in my own. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t have needs anymore. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine when maybe it’s not. I want to see you, all of you, whether it’s good or bad.” He nods, a slight hesitation to the movement, like he isn’t sure if he can believe me.
“When we first met, I thought that there couldn’t be two people more different.” I hadn’t ever stepped foot on a real farm. I'm no stranger to hard work and long shifts but not to true manual labor. I traveled a lot as a kid, from Paris to Italy to Greece, and was speaking fluent French by the time I graduated high school. I like nice clothes and spend too much money on my wardrobe. I grew up with a small family—my parents only, and our relationship has always been strained. The expectations they put on me were impossible to meet. I’ve driven myself to the point of exhaustion to please them, and they still don’t care.
Grayson hasn’t so much as left Iowa. He’s blessed with a big and bold family who likes to get in each other’s business. He’s a man who gets up with the sun and doesn’t rest until it’s long gone. He bites his tongue and sacrifices himself time and time again as long as it means the people he cares about the most get what they need.He doesn’t care if his boots are scuffed, and he wears the same Wrangler jeans he bought in high school. From the outside in, we couldn’t be more different. “But now that I know you, I’m starting to think it’s the opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think we both want so badly to help others. We’re happy if those around us are happy, but it’s been a long time since we’ve taken a good look at ourselves in the mirror, since we checked in with ourselves to make sure that we’re living the way we want to live.”
I lie down beside him, brushing my hair to the side so I can rest my head on the pillow. He moves the arm that was behind his head and drapes it across my bare back. “You’re not invisible, not to me. I want to make you happy,” I whisper. “And I want to makemyselfhappy. And I think we can do both at the same time.”
His fingertips graze along my skin, back and forth, stroking lazily, and I rest my hand atop his chest, weaving our fingers together. He brings them to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand, and then to my head. An act of acceptance, agreement maybe. “I think so too, baby.”
***
Sleep has often been hard for me to find. In residency, sleep was a gift. A beautiful, often forsaken gift. When I finished residency and worked in the ER, anxiety stole my sleep. My body would be exhausted to the point of being in pain, but when I would lie my head on the pillow, my mind wouldn’t let me go.
But right now, I’m wondering how I ever struggled to sleep. With the sound of Grayson softly snoring behind me and his heavy arm draped over my waist, my mind is free. I pause, waiting for the anxious thoughts to kick in—the made-up nightmares, the intrusive ones that usually visit me when I’m exhausted. But today, nothing comes, so I snuggle in, letting my eyes fall shut as I bask in this feeling.
I’m not sure how long we were lying there when the sound of a phone rings. I moan a little, wishing I had telepathic powers and could shut the alarm off from across the room. I nuzzle further into Grayson, which must wake him because he stirs. I feel his body tense for a second before relaxing, and he brushes his hand along my back. “Baby, your phone is ringing.”
“Not mine,” I mumble into his chest. “Mine’s on silent.”
It takes a second for him to take in my words, and when he does, his whole body tenses. He shoots up and twistsquickly to look at the bedside clock. And when he finds it’s just after three in the morning, he’s up, flipping the covers off and reaching for his discarded jeans, searching for the phone still ringing from his back pocket.
His worry causes me to snap awake, and I sit up, reaching for the covers to ward off the sudden chill.
“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t even say hello, or a simple yeah, it’s as if he knows whoever is on the other end wouldn’t call at this time just to chat. His voice is groggy, and he clears it once. “Where are you?”
He reaches down, bypassing his briefs and slipping his legs into his jeans. I slide out of bed, moving to my overnight bag that was tossed on a chair earlier. I fish through it and pull out sweats, a quarter-zip pullover, and socks. I can’t make out what the voice on the other end is saying, but I can hear the urgency, the fear lacing their words.
“Just take a breath man, take a breath. I’m on my way.”
He grabs a T-shirt from the dresser, tossing it on over his head and sticking one arm through the sleeve. He leaves the room, heading to the door like that before he stops in the hall, spinning back to look at me.
I stand in his bedroom, dressed, my arms crossed around my stomach to ward off the panic. He nods, reaching his arm out for me, and I walk to him, taking hishand as soon as it’s within reach. “She is. I’ll bring her, too.”
My chest tightens, and the second he hangs up the phone the words spill from my mouth. “Who was that? What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I know it’s not okay, but Grayson’s face shows fear, and he doesn’t seem like the type of man who scares easily.
He leads me into the kitchen, and he sits, tossing his phone on the table so he can put his shirt on the rest of the way. Trembling hands reach for his boots, and he slips them on, not bothering to tie the laces as I step into my sandals.
“Grayson?” I ask again as my heart pounds in my chest at all of the possibilities and of not knowing where we’re going.
“Do you have your travel doctor kit thing?”
My racing heart seems to halt in my chest, and I try to speak, but my voice freezes, so I nod instead.
He nods once, then again slowly as he stands, pulling me into a hug. With his lips pressed against the crown of my head, he whispers against me, “Lukas needs our help.”
I press a hand to my mouth to swallow the gasp, and Grayson is moving past me. He makes it halfway down the hall toward the bedroom before he spins, coming back into the kitchen. He stops halfway, pausing to lookaround the room before his hands come to rake through his hair.
“I–I can’t even think right now.” He looks over to me, his face so … so lost. “I need my keys. I don’t know where my keys are.”
I rush to him, placing my hands on his chest, tapping gently. “Look at me.” His eyes dart all around the room, from the kitchen sink, to the fridge, to the table. I tap once more. “Down here.”
His eyes finally meet mine, and I lock into him. “Let’s get through this together.” When his focus stays with me, I keep going, “When I’m about to spiral, it helps to think of the steps. First, we know that Lukas isn’t in immediate danger, right? We don’t need to call an ambulance or the police?” Grayson nods. “Okay, so we need to make sure we get to him safely. That means taking a second to breathe.” He nods again, pushing out a heavy exhale. I keep my hands on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his movements. “Your keys are likely on the bedroom floor after falling out of your jeans, or they’re in the truck. First, we will find your keys, or I can drive. We’re going to get to Lukas. Between the two of us, we’ll help him, and we’ll take him back here if we need to. That’s it. Right? That’s what we need to do, and we can do it.”
