“Who says?” I shoot back, still determined to avoid his question and keep the mood light.
He places his bowl on the coffee table. “Come on, Bree. Since when do you hide things from me?”
Good grief, he’s like that proverbial dog with a bone! For a guy who typically avoids confrontation, he sure is going after this with fresh gusto.
“I’m not hiding anything from you.” Not completely true, but close enough. “I’m just not ready to talk about it, okay?”
His jaw locks, causing the muscle on the side to pulse.
I may never be able to tell him everything, but I can apologize. I rest my spoon in the bowl. “I’m sorry, Wade.”
His brows dip in confusion. “For what?”
“For ghosting you for a year. I should have replied to your texts. I just…” I’m near tears again.
His shoulders relax, and his gaze softens. “It’s okay, Bree-bear.”
My breath hitches at the sound of his childhood nickname for me, and cracks form in the walls around my heart—walls I erected to protect myself against Chase. But now I’m realizing they shut me off from everyone, including one of the people who matters the most to me.
He swings his leg from the couch to the coffee table and pats the cushion next to him. “Come here.”
Without second-guessing, I put my bowl near his and scoot into the crook of his arm. He’s warm and solid, and I fit perfectly against him, just like always. When I lay my cheek against his chest, I inhale his clean, soapy sandalwood scent and exhale with a sigh against his T-shirt.
For the first time in I don’t know how long, I feel a sense of peace, like I’ve found my center. All the noise and stress fadeaway, allowing me to breathe a little easier. That’s always been Wade’s grounding effect on me, and how I’ve missed it.
He rests his cheek against my forehead. “Whatever happened, when you’re ready, you can tell me. No judgment, okay?”
Closing my eyes against the sting of unshed tears, I nod and let myself settle into him more. “Okay.”
We stay like that for a while until Wade shifts. “I need to ice my leg again.”
“I’ll get it for you.” I jump off the couch and scurry toward the kitchen.
He instructs me on which ice pack to retrieve from the freezer and to wrap it in the towel draped over the back of the barstool.
When I bring it over, a compelling instinct to take care of him hits me, so I lay the cold compress on his leg, then grab the pillows he tossed to the side and wedge them under his foot. Without thinking, I caress his shin, more out of concern, but when I look at him, our gazes collide and lock.
Something flashes in his eyes, but it leaves so fast, I’m not sure what I saw, if anything. But that doesn’t stop the heated tingles shooting straight into my core.
I’ve always felt a stronger connection to Wade than to his sisters. He was the one I ran to first when I needed to talk something out, or the first person I called to share a win.
But this—this feels…different.
He drags a blue and green afghan off the back of the couch—one I’m sure Nana knitted for him because I have one just like it in pink and purple—and tosses it over his foot. “The ice pack makes my toes cold.”
When he reaches for his soup, I hand it to him so he won’t have to strain.
“Thanks.” He won’t look at me, just stares into his bowl, but doesn’t eat. As if he flipped a switch, leaving me in the dark.
“Sure thing.” I return to my chair, holding my bowl close but not feeling hungry anymore.
And here I thought my apology, followed by the hug, had restored our friendship, but the air between us feels thick, filled with tension again. I know it’s my fault. What did I expect after I ghosted my best friend for a year? Did I think things would be the same?
Somehow, I have to make it up to Wade,show himI’m sorry for not taking better care of our friendship. I know he forgives me, but the damage to our relationship will take time to heal, something I’ll have to accept and live with.
I hate that he’s laid up with this injury, but maybe this could be my opportunity to prove to him how much he means to me.
He’s always been there for me when I needed him. Now, I can do the same for him.
