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But she knows. She hugs me, and I bury my face in her neck, shaking, holding on tight.
“What am I gonna do?” I whisper. “What the fuck am I gonna do?”
“Shh.” She rocks me like a child, and I grip her tighter. “We’ll be okay. I’m here. We’ll do this together. I promise.”
Slowly, gently, she wraps me up in words and kisses, in promises of a way out of the dead-end I’ve found myself in. In her warmth and strength, I let myself believe and relax my hold at last, letting her up.
“I love you,” I whisper before she ducks out of the car.
She stills. Smiles, her eyes lighting up. “I love you, too, Rid.”
Just like that. So easily.
She closes the door, and I laugh quietly to myself, not because she’s funny, but because she makes me happy.
This girl…
***
The doorbell is ringing.
I’m dozing on the sofa, where Brylee left me earlier this morning, after rubbing heating gel into my back and making sure I took my pills and ate breakfast. Day Two of my convalescence, Day Two of my sick leave.
Good news is, the pain is more manageable, so I have hopes of avoiding surgery.
Bad news is that I still can’t go back to work. And according to the doctor, I should start looking for a desk job. No idea how to get one just with my GED and no job experience in that area.
How to find another job that will net me enough money to live on.
The doorbell rings again and I groan, sitting up. “Who the hell is it?”
Couldn’t they call me on the phone? I blink blearily around, but my phone is a no-show. Probably forgot it in the bedroom or the bathroom last night.
The memory of sleeping beside Brylee all night long has me grinning—until I stand up and the pain hits again. Muted, sure, but still pretty bad.
“Coming!” I growl when the annoying ring shrills through the apartment. “Fuck, I’m on my way.”
I limp across the living room and unlock the door, throw it open, and blink.
A disheveled, pale Ryan is standing on my doorstep. He’s unshaven, and his shirt is wrinkled. He looks terrible.
And it doesn’t make me feel any better seeing him like this.
“What do you want?” I get out.
“I just…” He frowns. “Are you all right, Rid? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Is this why you’re here?”
“I tried calling, but you didn’t pick up. I got worried.”
A bitter snort escapes me. “You can shove your worry up your ass, R.”
“Wait.” He puts out a hand as I start to close the door. “I have news from your brother.”
I freeze. Suddenly my knees are weak, and I have to lean against the doorframe for support. “Where is he?”
“He’s well. He’s safe.”
