“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For coming. For staying. For praying. For being here when I—” His voice catches. “When I needed someone.”
“Anytime,” I whisper.
The horn honks again.
“I have to go.”
“I know.”
I pull my hand free. Head for the door and run down the front steps to Jessa’s waiting car.
“Drive,” I say the second I’m in the passenger seat.
“Are you okay?”
“Drive first. Questions later.”
She pulls away from the curb. I watch Brody’s house disappear in the side mirror.
We drive in silence for three blocks.
I press my hands to my face, my palm cold against my super-heated skin.
Jessa glances over, does a double-take. “Oh no…”
“Don’t.”
“Do you need me to go over the contract details with you again?”
“Probably.”
“Section Four: No romantic involvement outside of public appearances. Section Seven: Relationship terminates after finalwedding event. Absolutely one hundred percent no falling for him allowed.”
“It might be too late,” I whisper.
ten
brody
My back is killing me.
Not the good kind of hurt—the post-game, worked-hard, earned-it kind. The bad kind. The “sleeping on a couch designed for looks not comfort for three straight nights” kind.
The brown leather monstrosity in my father’s living room was probably trendy in 1997. But now it’s lumpy, sagging in the middle, and makes ominous creaking sounds every time I change position. Which is often. Because I haven’t slept more than three hours straight since the night we brought my dad home from the hospital.
The night with Chloe.
Which I’m not thinking about.
I’m standing at the stove in my childhood kitchen, making scrambled eggs at nine a.m. on a Thursday because that’s my life now—playing nurse-slash-chef to my father, who can’t lift his arm above his shoulder without wincing.
I always forget how small this kitchen is. Outdated. Old cabinets that should have had a fresh coat of paint years ago. Linoleum floors patterned with what’s supposed to look like hardwood but absolutely does not. An ancient refrigerator that hums from the corner like it’s planning a revolt.
Everything in this house is frozen in time.
Including me, apparently. I’m a child, still trying to keep everything calm and happy.
My father isn’t handling his sudden withdrawal from alcohol too well. Not since I went through the house and poured all his bourbon, whiskey, and even a half pint of Macallan down the drain.
