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“Here, sit down,” he says, guiding me to the couch. He wraps a blanket around me, the same one I snuggled up under the first morning I visited his apartment, and then grabs me a glass of water from the kitchen. “You still look pale.”
I take the water from him, but there’s a tremor building in my hands again. Aftershocks. “I really didn’t expect you to be the officer who got the call,” I say, my voice hoarse from my sobbing, “but I’m so glad you were.”
He sits down on the couch next to me, still in his uniform, and rubs his hand soothingly up and down my thigh. “I know you haven’t had a look for yourself yet, but it’s bad. All of your computer and camera equipment is wrecked.”
“I figured as much,” I mumble. My head pounds. Will I need to get a cleaner in to fix the place up? Will mine and Luca’s home insurance cover damage to belongings if Luca himself destroyed them?
“Can I be honest with you, Gracie?” Weston asks. His hand pauses on my knee. “I think it’s a dangerously stupid idea to keep living in that apartment when Luca’s name is still on the lease. You need to move out of there and rent somewhere else. And it’s none of my business how your social media thing worked, but I assume you guys need to split whatever money you made from that if you haven’t already. Anything else you guys still share, separate it. Cut all ties.”
In hindsight, Luca and I should have done exactly that when we first broke up, but I never thought for a second that our relationship would turn intothis. I believed it would always be civil. I even believed, at moments, that we would get back together. Now? Now I realize how naïve I’ve been.
“Maybe I should go back to Santa Cruz for a few weeks until I get everything figured out with Luca,” I say, staring blankly ahead, lost in my own thoughts. “Just as soon as I get my full license and buy that Mercedes I want.” I focus back on Weston and manage the smallest of smiles.
“That’s a good idea,” he agrees. He lets out a weary sigh as he sinks back into the couch and undoes the top few buttons of his shirt. Being dispatched to a 911 call made by myself would have been the last thing he expected during today’s shift, I bet. “You are more than welcome to stay here, Gracie. I know we’d be a little cramped, but .?.?.”
I reach out for his hand and lock my fingers around his. “Can I take you up on that offer, Weston? Even just for a few nights? I’ll need to go back to the apartment tomorrow to pack a bag, but you’ll come with me, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he says. He glances down at our interlocked hands and smiles. “Have you eaten dinner?”
“No. I was on my way home earlier to make myself some beef stir fry.”
He laughs. “Will pizza cut it?”
We order a large pepperoni pizza to share. In the time it takes for it to be delivered, Weston hops in the shower and changes into a pair of sweatpants. He straightens up his studio apartment, tidying away some clutter and even lighting a candle.
“I went out and bought some after the night I cooked you dinner,” he says sheepishly, but I think it’s sweet. He wants me to feel comfortable here, but I would feel comfortable anywhere Weston is.
When the pizza arrives, we sit together on the couch with the blanket draped over our laps and the pizza box between us. We watch old reruns ofHow I Met Your Motherand it’sexactlywhat I need tonight, something that doesn’t require much brain function. Just eating junk food and watching comfort shows on TV.
“Gracie?”
My gaze flickers from the TV to Weston. “Yeah?”
“I think you have more reasons now than ever to go see the world,” he says quietly. “Get your affairs in order here first, then go travel.”
“But I’m scared, Weston,” I mumble, pushing away the empty pizza box. I lie down, resting my head in his lap and staring at the TV screen. “What if I’m eight thousand miles away and realize I can’t do it?”
Weston laughs and says, “Then you just book a flight home, you goofball. What’s worse: Regretting giving something a shot that didn’t work out, or regretting never trying it in the first place? Once you start your career, these opportunities won’t come along so easily.”
“It sounds like you want to get rid of me,” I joke.
“Never,” he says, stroking my hair, “but it’d be selfish of menotto encourage you to do the things that scare you the most, wouldn’t it? And you know I’ve been working real hard on not being selfish.”
I smile, even though he can’t see my face. “Itwouldmake great content .?.?. vlogging my travels.Gracie on the Move.Or maybeWandering Gracie.”
“See? You didn’t know what your theme could be if you wanted to start from scratch all on your own, butthis.?.?. Thiscould be your new niche. It’s perfect. And it gets you eight thousand miles away from Luca.”
“I’d need to buy a new camera, though.”
“That’s true,” he says, and we laugh.
I lift my head from his lap and sit upright again. The TV plays in the background, but neither of us are paying attention anymore. Softly, I cup his jaw, his skin freshly shaven. “But you definitely won’t come with me?”
Weston’s smile is apologetic. “No, Gracie, I can’t come with you. But I promise I’d watch your videos. I’ll be your number one fan.” He places his hand over mine on his jaw and whispers, “I already am.”
My heart soars. He always,alwayssays the right thing.
“I said something to Peyton the other night,” I say, swallowing hard, “and it’s something I should probably tellyou.”
