"Is it because I know my way around The Barrel House?" he continues.
"Nope," I repeat, running my fingers across my forehead to avoid eye contact.
"Are you just angry in general?" he continues.
The doors open and I walk out before him, thankful I at least know how to find the exit on this floor. "Melody, wait up," he calls after me.
9
"Will you stop,"Brett says, grabbing the back of arm as I step one foot out of the sliding door.
I have no choice but to comply with this strong grip on me. I turn to face him, standing beneath the dimly lit awning. "What do you need?"
I realize I have no real reason to be snippy to the man who brought my family dinner, but my emotions are already out of control, and I can’t find it in me to be sweet and gracious. "You’re not okay."
"No sh—obviously, I’m not okay. My dad is dying in there," I hiss, pointing at the sliding doors.
"I know," he says. "I know we haven’t talked or seen each other in years, but I want to help. My dad is distraught too; he’s been a mess since he found out. I know he’s planning to visit him tomorrow."
"Yeah, they’ve been close for as long as I can remember," I agree. "I imagine he’s not taking the news well."
Brett wraps his hand around the back of his neck and bows his head for a moment. "It’s hard for me to watch people suffering. If I’m not helping, it will eat me up. I’m not the kind of person who can sit around knowing there’s something I can do, even if it’s just bringing food."
"You were a soldier, weren’t you?" That must be what this is; the urge to always help others.
"Marine, yes. Was. I’ve been out for a couple years now. It was too hard with Parker."
"What about Parker’s mom?" I know I’m pushing for information that is none of my business, but he seems to make my family his business so ... why not?
"I’d rather not talk about her if you don’t mind."
"Bad divorce?" I press, and I know I shouldn’t.
"Never married," he replies. "Anyway, I want you to know I’m here and I want to help you and your family. Honestly."
"Thank you.”
"Let me walk you to your car," he says. "They don’t light up this parking lot too well at night."
"I’ll be okay."
"I insist," he says, keeping his pace steady beside me. I almost forgot Journey, and she got a spot up front, so I’ve already walked past her car by the time I realize I’ve gone too far.
"Oh, crap. The car is back there," I say, stopping short. "God, I’m not thinking straight." I pivot and head back toward the hospital.
“It happens when there’s too much to think about."
He stops walking as I enter the space between Journey’s Jeep and the mini-van parked less than two feet away. I thumb through her key chain, searching for the car key, but all I see are house keys. "She didn’t give me the car key," I groan.
"Let me take you home, and I’ll bring you right back. My truck is right there," Brett says, pointing two cars down.
I debate going back inside to get the right key, but the thought of walking the halls again makes Brett’s offer seem better. "Fine.” Journey probably knew she gave me the wrong keys, then told Brett to walk me out.
Brett speed walks in front of me to the passenger side and opens my door, letting the sweet aroma of his cologne dissipate before closing the door. Once he makes his way around the truck to his seat and encases us in the small space, he’s almost too close and the faint scent is now stronger.
His truck is nice, brand new, it seems. The seats are leather, and the interior is spotless. A sense of peace fills my body, helping me relax into the seat.
Brett turns the key in the ignition and hits a few buttons on the dash. One button is a seat warmer, which is a nice bonus feature. I don’t have my winter jacket with me since I left it in Journey’s Jeep earlier, and it’s colder than I thought it would be tonight.
