“Jesus,” she says, dramatically spitting out the one or two grains that make it into her mouth.
But I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when she clasps my hand in hers, her eyes locked onto mine with a fear I’ve never seen.
“What happened?” I ask, panic, a vise at my chest.
She shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes as she whispers, so only I can hear, “Something’s wrong.”
Before I can ask anything more, headlights illuminate the beach and Mom’s horn blares.
Ro’s at my side in an instant, draping Zola’s arm over his broad shoulders. He maneuvers her easily, rendering me useless. Which is fine, because mentally, I’m still playing catch-up.Zola’s hurt. She’s scared. Something’s happening with the baby.
Ro looks directly into Zola’s eyes, and I’m relieved to know what she’ll find there—it’s the same thing I’ve come to know over the last couple months—safety.
“I’ve got you,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Lean on me.”
Ro all but carries Zola the short distance from the beach to Mom’s awaiting car, and I follow. He releases Zo gently into the passenger seat and reaches over to buckle her in.
I pause for half a beat when he closes her door, unsure what to say about how we left things or how to thank him for his help.
He opens my door now, too, waking me from my stupor when he says, “Later. Go.”
It’s the final word I needed.
And when Zola groans in discomfort, I’m back and focused, not wasting another fraction of another second before I shut the door behind me.
Nothing else exists outside of this car right now. Nothing else matters.
28
“If you don’t find thatfucking clipboard, I swear to god.”
Welp. Zola’s feeling better.
They’re keeping her at the hospital overnight as a precaution, but I think that’s mostly because when they said the wordsbed rest,Zola literally laughed. The doctor has since made her promise that for the next few weeks, she won’t be on her feet for more than thirty minutes a day. She was somewhat placated by the doctor’s suggestion that Zo get a little bell to ring when she needs our help. Mom and I were less amused.
“I mean it,” Zola continues, barking orders like she’s in a three-piece suit, not an open-back hospital gown and grippy socks. “I need to sign at least three clients from that party just to break even. I’m sitting in the red right now and I’m almost out of time.”
“I already texted Ro,” I remind her. “I’m sure he has it.”
Even connected to a bag of fluids, Zola doesn’t miss an opportunity. “You texted Ro?” she asks, eyebrows raised and mouth downturned with suspicion. “Not Liv?”
I smile because it’s further proof she’s feeling better.
“I like him for you,” Mom says, emerging from the attached bathroom at exactly the wrong moment.
“You saw us together for like two seconds,” I say, ignoring the pang I feel at the thought of him.
“I like him too,” Zola says, as if I haven’t spoken a word. “He seems like a really good guy.”
“A really good guy,” I repeat, testing the words in my mouth. “I think I read about those once.”
Mom steals a cafeteria french fry from Zola’s discarded tray at her bedside. “You don’t think he’s a good guy?”
“I mean, sure,” I say, collapsing onto the most uncomfortable little couch in the world. If Zola asks me to stay the night, we’re drawing straws for the bed. “So far. They all seem good at first. But it’s death, taxes, and guys going Hyde. Or Jekyll. Whichever the bad one was.”
Neither Mom or Zola says a word, so I continue with a shrug. “The things in life you can count on.”
Now Zola’s the one who looks unamused. “Is this seriously how your brain works or are you just trying to get a reaction out of us?”
