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There’s music playing from the jukebox, something old and classic. I wonder how that thing hasn’t kicked the bucket yet. It’s hardly ever not playing. Warren makes his way over to me, smacking Heston on the back of the head as he walks by him.
“Motherfucker,” he mumbles and rubs at the spot.
“That’s what you get for ditching me this morning.”
Heston scowls.
“Not his fault Hattie Jo showed up. He’s terrified of her,” Tripp laughs.
I make an attempt to smile, but it’s no use. My lips don’t even twitch with amusement. These boys and their constant bickering and joking have never failed to cheer me up. Right now, all I can think about is if Gage is alright. The unmovable weight of worry drops to the pit of my stomach.
I’m no stranger to worrying about others, but this feels different. Less like a constant dull ache and more like an urgent throbbing. Aneedto take action and make sure nothing else goes wrong.
I right my face which undoubtedly reveals my distress at the moment. With a sweet tight-lipped smile, I sidestep Warren, grab a water bottle from the fridge, and head down the hallway.
“B, wait,” Warren calls out.
“I’m just going to jump in the shower! Be out in a bit!” I sing-song in my most convincing gleeful voice. I had already made it halfway through the door I’d been going in and out of every morning and night for the last three weeks when Warren chose the worst moment of all time to decide to pay close attention.
“Uh, shower in Gage’s room?”
I stop in my tracks and turn around slowly, making sure to wipe the guilt from my eyes. Tripp’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. It’s not his usual shit-stirring look. More smug like he’s shoving down the urge to blurt something. Does he know? I narrow my eyes at him and he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at the ceiling like there’s a stray bird hiding somewhere in the rafters.
Heston pays no mind at all. I can’t imagine he gave one single thought to what room I was or wasn’t walking into.
But Warren looks firmly confused as his left eyebrow rises higher and higher waiting for an explanation.
I stand tall and roll my shoulders back. “I thought there might be some clean towels in there. I threw mine into the washer earlier today and forgot to switch them to the dryer,” I wave my hand and let out a laugh to really sell it. “Silly me.”
“Right.” He looks behind him to the front door and then back at me. “Speaking of Gage, where is he?”
Heston clears his throat. “He asked where Blythe was earlier. I told him she was at the café, and then he said he was gonna go pick her up.”
All three of them look at me. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. This is why I figured being a doctor was my best chance at a successful career. I wouldn’t make it past a day as a lawyer.
“Did he pick you up?” Warren asks.
“Yes, but,” I hesitate and wring my fingers together in front of my waist, “there was something that he had to go check on. I’m not sure what it was, but he said he’d be right back.” Notentirelyuntrue.
Warren shrugs his shoulders. “Alright. But hey, can we talk for a sec?”
“Sure thing,” I say entirely too quickly. I rush into Gage’s bathroom and grab the closest folded towel that I can find in the bathroom. “I’ll be done in a jiff!” I shuffle into the guest bathroom, shut the door, and lock it.
I’d rather avoid my brother than risk having to tell him that Gage is actually meeting with a scary-looking dude driving a blacked-out SUV that I’ve never seen before or that he may or may not have acted like something was wrong when he sent me inside the bunkhouse.
I lean against the door and rest the back of my head on it. Closing my eyes, I breathe and pretend that I have nothing to be worried about and that Gage can handle whatever it is that needs handling. There’s no reason for me to freak out. I can just go about my night and wait for him to get back like he said.
Still, I pull my phone out of my bag and check the screen. There’s a missed call and a voicemail icon that has my heart skipping a beat, but it soon sinks when I see it’s not from Gage. The caller ID readsDr. Mullenand I click on it to listen to her message.
“Blythe, this is Dr. Mullen from the Medical Honor Society. Just wanted to check in, make sure you got my letters of recommendation, and see how interviews were going. I haven’t heard back from you, but I’d love to sit down and discuss your plans for the future. Hope all is well!”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen, waiting for that jump-for-joy feeling. Finishing top of my class, I knew that I had caught the eye of the honor society director. She’s contacted me several times since graduation to discuss my plans and has always praised my publications and accolades. It feels incredible when you’re recognized and celebrated. When it’s something that you’re passionate about, that is.
I love helping people. But I don’t love the hospital or the academic setting. I have the brains and the work ethic to be a successful doctor. But judging by my reaction to Dr. Mullen’s voicemail, I’m just not sure that I’d make a happy one.
I turn on the shower, letting it get warm as I kick off my shoes and shed my clothes. Maybe it’s from the adrenaline coursing through my veins at the thought of Gage having a potentially dangerous conversation with that man right now, but my cheeks are flushed. I look more alive and vibrant than I think I ever have. I touch my under eye with the soft tip of my middle finger where dark bags used to be. The red splotches and little blemishes that used to be sprinkled across my forehead and cheeks from time to time have vanished. All that remains in their spot is a clear healthy glow.
I guess good sleep, a few orgasms, and time away from stress will do that to a girl.
