I wonder how he even knows what book tropes are, but I ignore his comment. Taking a deep breath, I swallow my pride and admit defeat. “Since you’re close . . . can I catch a ride back to the house?” Every ounce of me hates that I have to ask him this.
“Yeah, I can do that. Are you at the hospital? Too tired to drive?” His tone turns serious.
I open my door and climb out, heading back inside to wait. “No, I’m at my gran’s. I’ll drop you a pin.” I hang up as I walk through the door.
Gran turns from where she sits in her chair, white hair perfectly styled in ‘80s vintage rolls, her classic bedazzled grandma-style top nearly blinding me. “Forget something?”
I throw myself back onto the couch with a huff. “No. Car won’t start. Waiting for a ride.”
“Oh, dear. You’re more than welcome to take my car.” She sets her sewing project down.
As much as I need a car, I don’t want to take hers. She still picks up her meds and groceries, and even drives to bingo once a week. She looks forward to her few outings each week, and I want that for her.
“That’s okay, you need it. I’ll figure it out. I have a ride coming for now.”
“You know it’s okay to ask for help sometimes, Jessie. You do so much for me and work so many extra shifts at the hospital. It’s okay to need help sometimes.”
“I know,” I half-heartedly mumble.
Gran knows me better than anyone. She knows I’m fiercely independent and hate asking for help. But I did need Gran’s help. There’s no telling where I would’ve ended up if it wasn’t for her. Probably as messed up as my so-called “parents.” After Gran picked me up and took me home, I never had to go back to the shack my dad called a house.
I remember long days hiding in the garage or outside, trying not to be noticed. Like all drug houses, people came and went at all hours of the day and night, and a child was a nuisance. I quickly learned to fend for myself, and that included food and clothing. I stole my first pair of shoes from the dollar store when I was seven.
Going to school hungry, in clothes that didn’t fit, with unwashed hair became my normal. I didn’t have any friends until one day a blonde-haired little girl who loved to talk about horses decided we were friends. And we’ve been best friends ever since. In a way, Kacey saved me before Gran did. Some days, the only food I ate was the lunch she shared with me. Thelunches I noticed kept getting bigger the longer she shared—no doubt her mom caught on quick and started packing her extra.
But once I moved in with Gran, it all changed. My red tangles were washed and brushed daily, I never went hungry again, and I always had clothes that fit. She let me pick out paint colors and posters for my room. We did crafts, gardened, and baked together. Gran came to all my school events, hosted epic sleepovers, and told me how much she loved me every single day. No one had ever told me they loved me until she did.
Once I graduated high school, I went straight to nursing school, determined to make something of my life. And I did. I was the first person in my family to graduate college and got a job at our local hospital. I might owe a butt ton in student debt, but I did it. I just wish I still loved my job now as much as I did the day I started.
Knock, knock.
The sound snaps me out of my thoughts. I heave myself off the couch to answer the door.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady,” is the first thing the goofball says. The sound of his voice gets Gran’s attention.
“Well, you’re not Kacey.”
Trey peers around me into the house. “No, ma’am. I’m Jessie’s new roommate, Trey.”
Fuck.I close my eyes and sigh. I hadn’t told her.
Gran stands from her chair, shooting me a look that says, “We will discuss this later.”
“So, you’re thefamousTrey. Come in, come in.”
I block the doorway. “That’s okay, we need to get going—”
She silences me with a hard look.
Trey’s lips curve. “Famous, huh?” He moves past me to greet Gran. “Trey Bennett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He takes his hat off and shakes her hand.
I roll my eyes.What a suck-up.
Gran knows who Trey is—she’s heard Kacey and me mention his name in stories. But since he went back to Texas over the holidays, she didn’t meet him at the annual Hart Christmas gathering.
“Dorothy,” she says.
I snort. I’m sure her friends call her that, but I never hear anyone call her Dorothy. Even Carson gave up and started calling her Gran years ago.
