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It’s one of those nights when Liam is out and Maddie has dance, so Sophie and I will be alone. I have no desire to go out like before. I like knowing where Sophie is, and that she’s safe. She probably thinks I have no life outside these walls, but I don’t want that life anymore. Hustling at work to make sure that promotion stays mine and protecting Sophie are my priorities now.
After work, I head to the gym for an hour, and then I come home to shower. The moment I walk in and hear Sophie sniffling in the living room, my heart pounds with concern.
“Soph?” I ask, dropping my workout bag and walking toward her. She has a book propped up on her knees as she lounges back on the cushions, and I hear her suck in a deep breath as she cries harder. “Hey.” I shake her shoulder a bit, and she startles, whipping her book at me as she jumps.
I put both hands up in surrender, stepping back. “It’s just me.”
She yanks out her earbuds I didn’t realize she was wearing and scowls. “You scared me to death!”
“Is that why you threw your ten-pound book at me?” I snicker, then reach down to grab it off the floor.
“It was a knee-jerk reaction,” she says defensively. When I hand it back, she wipes her tears away. Her eyes are red and cheeks flushed.
Stepping closer, I cup her face and study her. “Are you okay? Were you crying?”
Sophie’s eye flutter a bit as her head leans into my palm. But then as if an alarm went off, she snaps back into place and pulls away. “I was reading and listening to music, and the combo made me emotional.”
She sets her book down and then rounds the coffee table and walks toward the kitchen. “How was your day? And your workout? I should’ve known you were home. You smell sweaty.”
She’s rambling, which usually means she’s nervous. The thought makes me smile because, after all this time, I’d assume she wouldn’t be. Especially if she only saw me as a friend.
I follow her and respond. “All good. Glad to be back even though we’re dealing with some intense cases. Gives me good fuel for my boxing, though.” I reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, then suck it down. “How was your day? Anything exciting?”
Sophie walks around me, grabbing items out of the fridge as she speaks. “It was fine. We’re working on some new music, so that’s always fun. Found a new client for some tutoring lessons and that starts in a week, which is nice. Otherwise, same ole, same ole. Lennon and Maddie met me for lunch, I went to grief circle, and then had coffee with Caleb. Oh, that reminds me—”
Checking my phone, I see it’s close to eight and didn’t realize it was so late. She sure kept busy, though.
“Would you mind if we did the dinner party this Saturday night? I cleared it with everyone else’s schedule, so if you’re free, I’ll make it official and get started on the menu.”
“The menu? How fancy are we talking here?” I lean against the counter as I watch her set a pan on the stovetop and start cooking meat. There’s cheese, lettuce, sour cream, and tomatoes on the counter, which means she’s making tacos, my favorite.
“I have the main course narrowed down to three items, so I’m still deciding, but I’m thinking formal wear. Not suit and tie fancy, but please take ten minutes to shower…” She glances at me with a smug smile.
As she continues talking about appetizers and side dishes, a part of me is worried she’s drowning herself to avoid her true feelings. She’s talked about it some, but it’s been a while since she’s mentioned it. I know she goes to her grief circle, but I don’t know how much she opens up there. It’s been a month since the incident, and I wonder if she’s blocked it out of her mind entirely. Hopefully, the meetings she’s attending are helping, especially since it’s essentially become a weekly routine for her.
I’ve done enough schooling to know this is a common occurrence for trauma victims. They go into shock or block it out completely, which is an avoidance tactic. The shit that asshole put her through was enough to traumatize anyone. Considering how things ended, I wouldn’t be surprised if she deals with it without actually dealing with it.
After she finishes cooking, she sets everything out and hands me a plate of two tacos, made just the way I like them. “Thank you, Sophie.” I reach for her wrist so she’ll stop moving for a second. She’s hell-bent on racing around a million miles per hour. “You didn’t have to cook for me, you know? I appreciate it, though, especially since you made tacos.”
