Page 134 of Run to Me

“I’m packing one more, so make yourself at home,” I tell him.

He grabs a drink from the fridge and settles into a recliner while Jake and I wrap and pack breakable items. Jake casts intermittent glances at Brody, so I look over my shoulder to find out what has him distracted.

Brody stares at nothing, his usual jovial expression wiped from his face, his eyes empty and distant. Jake and I share a wary look, communicating subtly with our shifting eyebrows about whether we should engage.

“I’ll pack the last of it,” I say, giving him the opening to check on his friend.

He drops onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh, as if he’s been laboring hard all day. “What’s up, man?” he asks Brody.

I can’t see Brody’s face when he answers, but the melancholy in his voice is clear as day. “I’m tired of being alone.”

Jake chuckles, a forced reaction to hide his concern. “Alone? You’re never alone. You’ve got women all over you, left and right.”

“Funny how you believe that,” Brody says, his tone thick with annoyance. “When’s the last time you saw me with a woman, Jake? Huh?” There’s a pause before he continues. “You can’t answer that because I haven’t had sex in six years.”

I don’t make a move, frozen with a roll of packing tape in my hand and my jaw on the floor. I’m shocked by both his bitterness and the admission he just made.

Jake splutters while searching for a response. “Wh—what are you talking about?”

Brody’s laugh is far from humorous. “Yeah. Walford’s biggest slut is abstinent. How’s that for a surprise?”

“Brody—”

“Forget it, Jake.” Brody cuts him off as he rises from the recliner. “I’ll just load these boxes and go.”

As soon as he leaves, Jake and I stare at each other with identical poses and expressions. Hand on hips. Eyes wide. Mouth open.

“What the fuck?” he whispers.

“Who the fuck?” I ask. Because the man who just stormed out of my house is not the Brody we know.

50

MAISY

“What about this one?” I ask, holding up a yellow paint swatch in Menchy’s Hardware Store.

Graham’s eyes light up. “I have boxers that color.” He’s said that about the last six paint colors I’ve considered for Jensen’s kitchen.

“Don’t you think you should ease him into your preferred color palette?” Tatum asks, her nose scrunched in disapproval.

She has a point. I may plan to move in with Jensen after our six-week separation ends, but he’s going through enough changes without me splashing bold, primary colors all over his life.

Part of his therapy involves updating his house and wardrobe. Jake and Tatum keep me apprised of his progress and what changes are on his list, then I go shopping. I’m okay with Tatum taking the credit for my contributions because I’ll do anything to ensure he remains on an upward trajectory. That includes hiding my involvement in his healing.

I huff at her and say, “Fine. We’ll go with the boring beige you chose.”

“It’s more of a taupe.”

“Cream, beige, tan, taupe. The only feeling any of those stir inside me is boredom.” I grab a gallon of matte paint and heave it into the cart, shooting Graham the stink eye for wandering off to try on hard hats instead of helping me.

“I can’t wait for their house to be built,” Tatum says with a squeal of excitement.

Graham and Miguel bought the creepy property on the outskirts of town. Once they remove the run-down mobile home, they can start building the home Miguel is designing.

“I wish Marcus and Judge would move here, then we’d all be together again.”

Her grin falters as sadness dims her eyes. “They’re Cali boys, through and through, and they’re growing up. We’re all spreading our wings, so let’s enjoy each other while we can.”