My heart stops for a split second. He’s a grown ass man, and this is my baby. What could he want with her? It only takes a split second for me to get a grip on reality. How can I judge their age difference when I’m attracted to a man their age?
“Does he treat you well?” Because that’s what I’m concerned about.
“Like a queen.”
“Then he has my blessing.” I turn to Paige, who nods. “Our blessing. But he has to meet me and ask. After all, he’s going to be my son-in-law.”
We all laugh, and Alice jumps from her chair and runs over to me and Paige, hugging us tightly from behind. She lowers her head between us, whispering. “Also, I’m two months pregnant, and you’re going to be grandparents.”
Chapter 26
Bradley
Anannoying,bangingsoundjolts me from sleep. I shoot up straight; the Afghan dropping around my waist as my eyes scan the room frantically.
Is there an intruder? An earthquake? What the fuck is happening?
It takes a second—maybe five—for my brain to register that I’m on the couch, my clothes crumpled like discarded laundry, one arm twisted beneath me and my face pressed into a throw pillow that smells faintly of body odor and maybe something else. Puke? The living room is dim; the blinds I installed replace the drab curtains Nana had, and only allow thin stripes of sunlight to cut across the floor.
The doorbell rings again, sharper this time, cutting through the fog in my head like a jagged knife.
I groan, swinging my legs over the edge of the couch. My stomach rolls with the sudden movement as I fight to push down the bile trying to work its way up.
The bell rings again, but this time it’s followed by urgent knocking—three firm pounds against the wood. The kind ofknock that says ‘I know you're in there, open the damn door’.Reminiscent of every knock you’ve seen in a movie or television show when the police show up.
"I'm coming!" I croak, throat raw and dry. “Hold your fucking horses.”
Every muscle protests as I peel myself off the couch. My whole body aches like I’ve been hit by a slow-moving train and then dragged for a mile behind it just for shits and giggles. I shuffle to the door in a pair of sweatpants that have definitely seen better days and a hoodie that might be on backwards. I can’t even tell. It hurts too much to try and verify.
I open the door.
It’s Jefferson.
Shit.
He stands there, handsome as ever, gazing back at me in shock, no confusion.
Jefferson smiles, faltering only slightly as he holds up the bag of food. “Did I get the time wrong?”
Realization hits me like a wrecking ball. I’d forgotten. Completely. I was supposed to cancel. To message him and let him know I was sick. This date wasn’t for a function, so I knew it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I let the ball drop.
I blink at him, swaying slightly as I hold on to the doorknob for dear life, steading myself as the world begins to spin. “No. I meant to message you. I fell asleep.” My voice sounds gritty like sandpaper. “Or passed out. Something to that effect.”
He doesn’t speak right away, instead his gaze moves over me, taking in every detail—my pale face, the way I’m leaning on the door like it’s the only thing keeping me upright,which it is, the sweat on my forehead, and the rancid smell permeating off my body.
“Jesus, Bradley. Are you okay?”
I laugh, or try to. It comes out more like a wheeze, before I begin coughing up a lung, hoping that nothing else comes spewing from my body. “Food poisoning. Flu. Bubonic plague. Hard to say. Take your pick. It could be one or all of them.”
He shifts the bag in his hand and steps forward instinctively, like he’s ready to catch me if I drop, which I might. His brows knit together, deepening the crease between them. His arm slips around my waist, gripping me tight, yet gently.
“I didn’t mean for you to see me like this. You should go before you catch anything if it’s contagious.”
Fuck! I really hope that Malcolm isn’t sick. I know today is the day he’s coming out to his family. I wonder if he has? How is it going? If he’s okay?
“Nonsense. I’m glad I did. Someone should be making sure you’re taking care of yourself. Besides, if I get sick then I get sick,” he says, brushing past me gently and walking inside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I brought us Chinese, but you need soup. Which I plan to get for you just as soon as I help you to bed.”
I blink again. Is he serious? “No, the couch,” I tell him weakly. While I’d much rather be in my bed, he’s going to be leaving and the couch to the door is far less a distance to walk.
