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Brooks’s face turned redder than the apple on the cover of Twilight. “That was innocent,” he stammered. “We were friends.”
That was true. Despite how badly I used to wish it wasn’t all innocent. Each time he’d knocked on my window after climbing our trellis, this tiny shred of hope had appeared. Hope that maybe that night would be the night he would want to do more than just listen to music and talk. Brooks was an old soul who had loved artists like Cat Stevens and Eric Clapton. He would replay certain guitar riffs and give me the history behind the song. Unfortunately, he’d never appreciated Rick Springfield for the musical legend he was. Nor had Brooks known how I’d longed for his kisses, especially after he’d given me a taste of one. However, the kisses never came, and eventually he stopped coming too.
“Friends,” I whispered. “You know, I should give you some time alone with your daddy. For some reason you seem to bring out my snarky side, and I would hate for you to break your promise to your momma.” I stood.
Brooks unexpectedly reached for my hand. “Please don’t go,” he begged like a child.
I stood stunned for a moment by his actions before I came to my senses and registered his plea. I squeezed his hand back, feeling so many things. Everything from belonging to anger—anger at myself for still feeling so attracted and connected to him. “Brooks, you’re going to have to face him sooner or later. And there may not be a later,” I cried.
“I know. Please stay.” He gently tugged on my hand.
I eased back onto my chair. He kept a hold of my hand, just like the night after my momma had died when I had needed his comfort so desperately. The way he held my hand told me he needed that same comfort now. As much as it hurt and confused me, I would give my old friend that.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
There we sat in silence, other than the sounds of the machines, for the better part of an hour, watching over Tom. Occasionally Brooks would run his thumb across my hand, and I would have to stop myself from shivering. Yet we never said a word. In my mind, though, I was having all kinds of conversations with myself and the pesky voice that had decided to make an appearance again. The voice and I fought over all the reasons Brooks and I were wrong for each other, no matter how right it felt sitting next to him and holding his hand. My reoccurring argument was that he was dating Morgan and hated marriage, according to his momma. I was smart enough to recognize that those factoids didn’t bode well for me. And Brooks had never seen me as anything other than a friend.
Amid my silent battle, Brooks abruptly stood and rushed toward the door. Once the automatic doors opened, he looked back, his intense gaze centered on me. “Grace . . .”
“Yes?”
He didn’t respond, other than shaking his head before he strode out like the devil himself was after him.
I took Tom’s hand. “Did that seem weird to you?” Mentally, I heard Tom give an emphatic yes. “I agree. Definitely weird.”Chapter Eight“You are a knotty girl.” Colette loved to make that joke when she rubbed my neck and back. She was truly a goddess among women, with the most magical hands on the planet.
I closed my eyes while Colette worked out the kinks in my back. I didn’t care how strange it must have looked to everyone dining in the surprisingly nice hospital cafeteria. It was set up like a restaurant with circular tables, and the roof was glass, so it looked like we were in an atrium. They even had classical music playing in the background.
“Sitting up all night in a chair will do that to you.”
Lorelai sat across from us, typing notes. We were multitasking. Not only were the two best friends ever giving me a much-needed break by bringing me dinner, but they were helping me plan my twenty-year high school reunion. It was less than two months away. I’d had a hard time recruiting any of my old classmates to help—except for a few who were unbelievably unreliable or lived out of town—so my girls jumped in. Sadly, people didn’t want to help, though they were more than happy to come.
“Maybe you should go home tonight and rest,” Lorelai suggested. “Let his family take the night shift.”
My bed sounded glorious, as did a shower that lasted longer than the five-minute one I’d taken when I’d gone home earlier after Carly and June had arrived. I’d wanted to give mother and daughter time alone to be with Tom and each other. Family relations, I think, were strained on all ends, even though both Carly’s and Brooks’s loyalties lay with their momma. Carly had recently inched the door open to repairing her relationship with her daddy, so I think this was hitting her harder than anyone. She had sobbed all over my head when we’d seen each other earlier—a real danger when you had tall friends, and hence the need for a shower. I’d never found snot to be a good hair product.
