Every muscle in my body goes tight before immediately unraveling again because that is not where I thought this conversation was headed.
Not even close.
“Angel,” I murmur. “You are definitely not the only one who noticed.”
Her eyes lift to mine cautiously, like she’s bracing for impact anyway.
“There’s actually something I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you too.”
Here comes that nervous look again.
I thumb across her knuckles. “Relax. I’m not secretly married or about to confess to murder.”
A startled laugh pops out of her.
“There’s someone I want you to meet while we’re at Coyote Creek.”
“Oh, okay.” Confusion drags her answer out.
“She’s all I have left,” I say, then correct myself. “Family-wise.”
Aspen shifts toward me fully now, giving me her complete attention in a way that somehow makes this harder.
“Your grandmother?”
“Yeah.” My grip tightens on the wheel. “Monica.”
The name settles between us for a second before I exhale hard through my nose and glance toward the next turnout sign.
“I need a minute.”
“Yeah, of course,” she says softly.
The answer should settle me. Instead, my chest feels tighter as I steer us toward a gravel overlook off the highway.
Aspen watches me carefully as I kill the engine.
“She’s in memory care in Coyote Creek,” I say quietly. “Some days she knows who I am . . . some days she doesn’t.”
Saying it out loud never gets easier.
Some days she remembers pieces of me so clearly it knocks the air out of my lungs. Others, she can’t even look at me because my presence scares her. All she can see through her confusion is a threat she doesn’t understand.
Aspen’s patient as always and I’m still not sure I deserve it or her. Scratch that, I’m certain I don’t but I’m beginning to accept that there isn’t a man on earth who does. I’m just the lucky fucker fate put in her path.
“I didn’t want to surprise you with it,” I add. “Or drag you into something heavy without asking. We’re already here for the van. This is . . . optional. But she asked to meet you.”
Her fingers flex on her knee. “She knows about me?”
“Somehow, she guessed.”
Desperate to know what she’s thinking, my eyes flick to hers.
Her smile is quick to chase away my doubts. “Is that so?”
“She’s annoyingly perceptive, a lot like someone else I know.”
“Moi?” She lifts a hand to her chest feigning innocence. Only I know that after she blossomed under my palm there’s not an innocent bone in her body. Unfailingly kind, yes. Innocent . . . not even close.
