“Hate to break up this party before old Jourdan makes an appearance,” he says, his voice hoarse. “But some sonofabitch just drove a railroad spike through my brain. Better go home and crawl into bed.”
Worry worms through me. He’s been sleeping a lot lately. When I arrive at the house for work in the mornings, more often than not, I have to haul his ass out of bed. And by the time we’re done for the evening, he’s already making noises about slipping beneath the covers.
I’ve been blaming it on the booze, the bad nutrition, and the long hours of physical labor, but… Could it be something else? Could that concussion have exacerbated his condition?
“Maybe you should go see that VA doc again,” I say. “You might be suffering some side effects from Rick’s attack.”
“Things will get better once we’re finished with the cottage,” he assures me, emptying his glass and setting it on an antique side table. “I’ll be able to rest and recuperate.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand. “Don’t mollycoddle me, Luc. You know I hate it when you do that.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw as I bite back the words longing to come out. Bowing to his will and his pride, I say instead, “I’m surprised a Yankee like yourself knows the meaning of the wordmollycoddle.”
“Twelve years of being your friend and I reckon I’d hafta be dumber than a bag of hammers and useless as tits on a boar not to have picked up a thing or two.”
One corner of my mouth twitches as I turn to Maggie and hook a thumb toward Cash. “Do I really sound like that?”
Her nose crinkles. “Honestly?”
I laugh. Wealllaugh, and just that easily my mood lifts.
Maybe Cash is right. Maybe after we finish the house, he can rest, go to rehab, and start getting his life back on track.
I ignore how hollowly the thought rings inside my head.
Outside, Maggie and I turn to follow him toward his house, but he stops us. “Go on and walk Maggie home, Luc,” he says to me. “I can find my own way back.” Then he glances at Maggie. “No need for you to go out of your way.”
“It’s not that far out of my way,” she assures him. “And I’d—”
“Please,” he interrupts. “My head is killing me. I just want to get home as fast as I can, with the least amount of chitchat possible.”
“Okaaay,” she hesitantly agrees. When he strides purposefully away, she watches his back, her mouth pinched with worry. After he disappears around a corner, she snaps her chin my way. “He’s getting worse.”
“I know.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Hang on for a couple more weeks.” I motion for her to precede me down the sidewalk and then fall into step behind her. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead so they won’t linger on the way the soft fabric of her dress nips in at her waist and then flows lovingly over her hips. “After that, the house should be finished, hopefully Rick’s trial will be over, and Cash will be more open to spending some time in rehab.”
“It’s not only his drinking that’s getting worse. It’s his head. I’m not sure rehab can help with that.”
“But it can’t hurt, right? Once he’s dried out,thenwe can try to tackle what’s going on with his brain injury.”
“I guess we’ll see,” she grudgingly agrees.
We walk on in silence for a few blocks, letting the cool breeze and the sounds of the buskers doing their best to wow the tourists with their musical genius hold sway over our conversation. But when we pass Toulouse Street, the crowds thin and the music dies down to a distant murmur. I glance over at her.
“I missed you this week,” I admit quietly, unable to hide from that simple truth.
She turns to me, and the air between us pulses like Harry Potter’s lightning-bolt scar. “And whose fault is that?” she demands. “You want to give me an ultimatum? Fine. That’s your prerogative. But you said we were going to stay friends no matter what. And yet I didn’t get one text or phone call from you all week long.”
“I meant we’ll stay friendsafteryou decide whatcha want, Maggie May,” I explain gently. “Until then, I reckon it’s better if we stay in our own lanes. We’re less likely to hurt each other that way.”
“I don’t want to hurt you atall.” Her voice is determined. And a bit overwrought. “I don’t want to hurtanyone. That’s the whole point of—”
“I’m not aiming to go through this with you again.” I sigh. “You know how I feel.” Unlike the last time, I keep my temper in check. And after a while, I venture, “Haveyoumissedme?”
My heart stops beating as I await her answer.
