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We were on the sofa and Patrick had his head in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair, being careful to avoid the tender spot where he’d hit his head. Even though he said it didn’t hurt any longer, I still stayed away from it.
“Sure, who?”
“Greg and Cooper. They wanted to bring pizza and hang out for a while if you’re up to it.”
Patrick reached for my hand and kissed my palm. “Definitely. When?”
“Whenever you’re ready. I just have to text Cooper back.”
I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and replied to his text.
“They’ll be here in about an hour.”
His eyes shifted to mine. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “Why?”
“I don’t remember the last time I heard you play your guitar. Don’t you miss it?”
Leaning over, I kissed his forehead. “Yeah, I do. But I’ve had more important things to think about.”
“But don’t you need to write music? You’ve never gone this long time without writing. How long has it been?”
I could see him trying to figure out how long it had been since the accident.
“A while. I’ve been working on some things. But I don’t need one to write lyrics.”
“Can’t you just get one out of the studio?”
I swallowed hard. “I could, but we moved most of them to the studio Aidan rented for us. It was more convenient to rehearse there and having all our stuff in one place meant we didn’t forget to pack anything. Remember?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed as he tried to remember. But he gave up and shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
I smiled and kissed his forehead. “It’s okay. Not a big deal. It’ll come back.”
He nodded, but looked unsure.
“Aidan called. I’ve got to go clean out the car before the insurance company takes it. I thought I’d ask my parents to come stay with you. My mom is dying to do something. So if she comes and just happens to do a ton of cooking for us, that wouldn’t be horrible.”
“I love Claire, but I want to go with you. I need to see it.”
Dread began building in my gut. “You sure you want to do that?”
“Yes, I’m sure. How else will we know whether to buy another one if we don’t see how it held up?”
I’d seen pictures of it. It wasn’t pretty—at all—and I was worried as fuck about what would happen when he saw it.
“Okay. Tomorrow then.”
We were debating whether Spicy Doritos were better than Nacho Cheese when the bell rang. This is what we’d been reduced to in our boredom. But I’d take it any day over the alternative.
“I know why you always choose Spicy,” I said, moving to the door.
Patrick chuckled as he sat up.
I opened the door to find our friends standing there with their arms full of pizza and several bags. Cooper was staring up at his tall as fuck husband. Greg was six-foot-eight and made us all look small. Patrick was six-foot-four, and I was six-feet-tall, but I still felt short next to him.
“Come in,” I said. “Let me take something.”
