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THREE
BARRETT
I hold her hand, and we walk up the hill. It’s strange—to be here with her and not just watching her. I caress her hand. She smiles up at me. Emotion moves through my chest: gratitude, shock, guilt. Warmth.
“I like having you around,” she murmurs.
“I like being around,” I say, hoping she can’t hear how hoarse my voice sounds.
“Did you think I was crazy when I kicked you that day?” She laughs.
“No. Just scared. Pretty badass, honestly.”
“Did it trigger you, having your head get hurt and stuff?”
“Nah.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says.
I chuckle. Then I think of something sobering.
“That night I left you—you went in, and I went home?”
Her brown gaze searches mine; it makes my chest hurt somewhere deep I can’t touch.
“I let you paint it as you reading too much into things.”
She nods.
I press my lips together. “I’m sorry.”
“So…I wasn’t?”
I squeeze her hand and try to find the words I need. “I was going out of my mind…trying to protect you.”
“I know why you want to meet Papa. The two of you have a lot in common. Both very—beary?—” she gives me a silly smirk— “protective. I can see you doing your old job. Or teaching martial arts. Were you always that way?”
“How?” I frown.
“Protective.”
I think about my Mom. I’m tempted to give her a generic “don’t know,” but I owe Gwen all the honesty that I can give her. So I confess, “Yeah.”
“I want to know about the young cub Barrett.” She smiles up at me, and I swear to God, her eyes seem to radiate happiness.
I laugh, because it’s wonderful to see. When she keeps looking at me expectantly, I let a long breath out. Her hand squeezes mine, which makes it easier to go on. “My mom was a painter. My father is a surgeon. They had me first, and then had my brothers five years later.” I shrug, as if I’m not sure what more to say—and that is true, I guess. I hate to drop the sordid story of my younger years on unassuming Gwenna.
“Were you close to your mom?” she asks carefully.
I swallow. Out of nowhere, my eyes feel kind of hot and tight. Fuck.
“You don’t have to talk about it. I lost my dad last year. I don’t know what it was like for you, but I know for me sometimes I don’t want to talk about it, and I think I’ll always have some days like that.”
I look down at her tender face. All the understanding she throws my way… It makes me want to tell her.
“She got…cancer. Breast cancer.” I swallow, locking my gaze on the leafy slope in front of us, focusing on the movement of my feet. “Some of the smart drugs…” I chew my lip and rub my brows, where pressure seems to be building. “They had started coming out…” I inhale, “but…” I shake my head. Gwen’s arm bumps mine; the small touch spurns me onward. I look down and find her eyes are clear and understanding.
Despite the pressure behind my eyes, the tightness in my throat, I find my voice. I keep it low and steady. “I think my father thought they should have taken lymph nodes that they didn’t. I don’t know.” I struggle to swallow as again my head pounds. My hand, around Gwen’s, clenches. Hers grips mine tightly.
