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“The storm last week blew a tree through one of our windows.” Nana chuckles. “That’s why Charly’s been shacked up with Bryce until the repairs are finished.”
Three heads jerk up to look at Charly.
“You’re staying with Bryce?” Watson asks. “In his house?”
Charly nods, pausing to take a sip of water. “In his spare bedroom. He’s been a very gracious host.”
Anthony smirks. “I’ll bet he has.”
She ignores his snide remark. “He took me canoeing last week.”
“You’re here by yourself?” Bentley asks.
“I originally planned this trip with my mother, but she passed before we got the chance to come.”
Bentley places his hand over his heart. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. Beatrice and Bryce have been helping me take my mind off of everything. I really love it here.”
“You should come down to Boston.” Anthony pins me with a look. “Maybe the big guy will come for a visit if you do.”
Watson wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Been a while, man. Everything has been long forgotten. You should come hang with the team. Show the rookies a thing or two.”
I take my time chewing, searching for an excuse as to why I can’t go back to Boston, one I haven’t given them thus far. But everyone at this table knows the real reason why I won’t go back to that place.
Including Charly. Her hand finds mine under the table, and she laces our fingers together, giving me a squeeze that tells me she’s here for me.
It’s been me against the world for so long—to no one’s fault but my own, I know this—yet this woman blows into my life, and suddenly I’m not alone. Not if I don’t want to be.
And I don’t think I want to be alone anymore.
That realization slams into me like a freight train. My throat constricts, making it harder to breathe. I release Charly’s hand, and push back my chair from the table as I make an abrupt exit to get to the kitchen.
Anthony waves his empty beer bottle. “Can you grab me another one while you’re in there?”
“Get up and get it yourself.” Watson smacks him in the back of his head. “What are you, a cripple?”
Bentley cuts him a glare. “Dude.”
Watson’s eyes dart to me. “Shit. I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have used that word.”
I duck my head as I barrel through the door. “It’s fine.”
I brace my palms on the cool countertop, and let my head hang down between my shoulders, squeezing my eyes shut. The kitchen has always calmed me. It’s filled with happy memories of the time I spent growing up with Pop, watching him work his magic, putting his heart and soul into every meal. It’s the only other thing I’ve been good at aside from football, and it keeps my hands busy.
The door creaks open, and the scent of peaches surrounds me. Charly steps behind me and slips her hands around my waist. She presses herself against my back, melting around me, and we both exhale in the quiet safety of the room.
“They just miss you, you know,” she says.
“I know.”
“And you miss the way things used to be when you were part of their group.”
“I do.”
“Remember what you told me earlier, about how loss gets easier with time, and it becomes our new norm?”
“Yeah.”
