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Even when the company is a beautiful woman with gold-spun locks and mesmerizing eyes.
Especiallythen.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t plan on the storm wrecking Charly’s room. If she’s that awful to live with for a mere couple of weeks, I’ll have her stay at a hotel. Say the word, and it’s done.”
I pause, weighing the options. The woman has already been put out, and her trip just started. She mentioned she’s here for her mother, and I don’t want to be the one to ruin that for her. I know plenty about grief and heartbreak, and I came to Nana’s inn for the same reason she did—to heal.
I should’ve said something to comfort Charly. Been kinder to her. Reassure her that I’ll leave her alone, that I’m not some creep. She was blindsided by the news of living with a stranger, and judging by her wide eyes, and the way she nibbled on her bottom lip, she was just as uncomfortable as I was.
And I didn’t help matters by bringing up house rules like some uptight prick.
Maybe I am anti-social. I never used to be. I was the football star who was always surrounded by an entourage. But after years of isolating myself, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to hold a simple conversation.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Nana fails to hide her pleased smile. “She’s pretty. Looks to be about your age.”
I shouldn’t acknowledge how attractive she is, but I’d have to be dead to not notice. Long blonde hair tumbled down over her shoulders in soft and shiny waves. A natural bright pink tinged her fair cheeks. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, not that I could tell, and she doesn’t need to—it would be a sin to cake anything over those illuminating eyes. Liquid heat spiked through my veins when her curious gaze rolled over me, catching me off guard. Had to remind myself that she wasn’t checking me out. I know what she sees when she looks at me. I haven’t bothered to shave, and haven’t had a haircut in months. I look like I should be carrying around a volleyball named Wilson.
“What’s your point?”
Nana picks off an imaginary piece of lint from the bed. “Maybe you two can be friends.”
Ah. There it is. I turn around to face her. “I have friends.”
She holds up her palms, feigning innocence. “I know you do. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend here in town. You hardly see the boys from back home.”
“That’s because they’re busy.” Busy in the life I was once a part of.
Nana frowns. “I’m sorry you had to give up your dreams, my boy. Truly. But I hate to see you hiding yourself away in here. You still have your whole life ahead of you. You can still do something with it, even if it’s not what you originally planned.”
I massage the coiled muscles in my neck. “Nana, please. Not now. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“You don’t have to do any of this. You choose to keep yourself busy, and pretend like it’s your duty.” She uses her cane to push to her feet. “But it doesn’t have to be like this, Bryce. You don’t have to be alone all the time.”
Anger surges like the swell of a wave, as it often does whenever Nana broaches this topic. “You’re right. I am choosing to live this way.” I jab my chest with my index finger. “It’s my choice, and I like being alone. This is what I want.”
She scoffs. “No one wants to be alone.”
“I do.”
“You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in.” She steps closer to me. “You do it because you’re scared.” Another step. “But my boy, you are not a coward. I’ve never seen you back down from something.” She stands in front of me, and cranes her neck to look up into my eyes. “The doctors said you’d never walk again, but you did. You’ve never let anything defeat you, not even a spinal cord injury. So, forgive me if I find it hard to believe your bullshit lies about wanting to be alone becauseyou like it.”
A lump rises in my throat, and I attempt to swallow around it to speak, but the words won’t come out. It’s for the best, because they’d only be another lie, and Nana would see right through it.
Sometimes I think she’s a witch. Not the warts, cauldron, and eye-of-newt kind. But there have been several times in my life when Nana has demonstrated a sixth sense.
On my fourth birthday, she bought me my first football. I hadn’t expressed an interest in any particular sport at that age, but it turned out to be the one I was best at. My life revolved around football, and I often wonder how things would’ve turned out if Nana gifted me a soccer ball, or hell, a microscope.
In fifth grade, I’d wanted to be Peter Pan in the school play, but I only made it as far as the understudy. I was crestfallen, but Nana had me practicing the lines every single night after dinner. I told her it was pointless. Steve Kirby was the star of the show, and there was no way he’d miss out on his big acting debut. But Nana insisted.You can’t see the future, but you can prepare for it, she’d said. The night before the show, Mr. Pensky, my drama teacher, called to tell me that I’d be starring as Peter Pan—Steve flipped over the handlebars of his bike after school and broke his collar bone.
Then there was the night of Mom and Dad’s accident. I would’ve been in the car with them when the drunk driver crashed into them if Nana hadn’t asked me to help Pop install the fans in the porch ceiling.
That one fucked with my head for a long time.
I don’t know that she’s a clairvoyant—not sure they exist—but it’s like she just knows things.
“I don’t want to fight with you.” Nana clasps my hand, and gives it a squeeze. “But I wouldn’t be your grandmother if I didn’t tell you the truth, and push you to be your best.”
