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But Grace’s words played on repeat in his mind, trying and convicting him as he stared at the gently sloped ceiling and listened to the not-so-gentle snoring of someone across the room.
Losing a sibling is one of life’s most painful trials.
That’s what Grace had said in her email about Lupe Navarro’s brother. Shehadhad compassion for Lupe’s loss.
“One night he didn’t come home,”Grace had said tonight.
Her own brother had died in an alcohol-related accident, just like Noah’s dad. That was why she’d been so understanding when Noah had spilled his own history. That was why she’d been so upset when she ran into Mandy—the girl had led Benson into the behavior that had brought about his death. Noah remembered seeing Grace yesterday with the same threadbare backpack she’d used in college and recalled the defiance in her eyes when he’d almost dared to mock it back then. He’d bet money that Benson was the brother who had given it to her. No wonder she hadn’t replaced it.
Puzzle pieces clicked together in his head. Ryan had warned Noah—amid the glowing reports of Grace’s many good qualities—that Claire’s brother had recently passed and that Grace had taken it especially hard. The setup had taken place only a few months after Benson’s passing, yet Noah had brushed the warning aside and immediately taken offense at Grace’s standoffishness.
Yes, Grace had insulted and ignored him. But had he eventriedto break through her walls?
No. He had embraced the role of victim. So much so, in fact, that it had led to a rift in his friendship with Ryan. He’d hardly spoken with his friend since. Not that they were intentionally not speaking—they just... didn’t. Noah could have laughed the date off as the spectacular failure it was—like Emily and her twice-in-one-night dance partner—but he’d chosen to let the wound fester.
“About the time I graduated... I began to see how that reduced my awareness of others.”
Noah crumpled under the weight of that one. In his accusations to Grace, he had unwittingly passed judgment on himself. How ironic that he had told her she was self-centered and rude, even as he’d judged her.
Cut her off.
Shunned her invitation.
Belittled her chosen occupation.
Yes, her behavior that night had been self-centered and rude, but his actions following had been just as bad or worse.
Yet, for all the abuse he’d dished to her, what had she given in return?
First, she’d called him out. Pointedly. Deservedly.
But thenshehad apologized tohim.Apologized.Explained her actions while admitting that she had room for improvement. Asked for his forgiveness.
They’d both made mistakes, but Noah, from the comfort of his high horse, had responded to her apology with silence.
“I can be kind. I can forgive.”
That was exactly what Grace had done when she’d seen him in Mexico, working to defuse the tension before anyone else noticed.
All he’d said in return was “Sure.”
The knot in his throat—like an under-chewed shard of tortilla chip stuck just beyond his ability to swallow—ached and burned. How could he have been so blind?
“I had never taken the time to work through my own stuff.”
A memory from his father’s funeral arose in his head. Mom leaning on Matt, tears running down their faces as twelve-year-old Noah stood holding her hand, his cheeks dry.
“I needed to find my own peace.”
That was what he was missing. Noah had never worked through his own issues or found peace with his father’s drinking and death or the resulting baggage he’d been dragging around. There was so much he had to change, so much he had to answer for. Where to start?
“Accept the past. Apologize.”
His heart rate picked up in confirmation that he needed to accept everything that had happened and stop wishing he could change the past. First thing in the morning, he would apologize to Grace. Once that was done, he’d think about what needed to come next. An appointment with his old therapist, for sure, and lots of changes in himself.
Anxiety shook his legs. He tried some deep breathing. Grounded himself by pressing his bare feet to the floor, concentrating on the cool tiles and the fine grit sand that had defied the broom. Held one hand to his head and closed his eyes for a backward count from fifty.
Nothing helped.
