“I was going seventy miles an hour on a thirty-five-mile-an-hour road.”
“And a deer jumped out of the woods.”
“Which I wouldn’t have swerved to miss if I was going the speed limit.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Liv, stop denying the truth. It’s okay. I’ve made peace with it. I mean, it took me a long time, but I’ve come to terms with it.”
“But it’s not the truth. Brandon didn’t have his seatbelt on, which is the most basic rule of riding in a car. That’s the truth. And he took it off because of me. That’s the truth.”
“What?” He shakes his head. “No.”
“He was egging you on to race Jeremy. That’s the truth.” I grab his arm and look into his eyes, hoping to make him see. “You loved Brandon and you would have walked through fire to protect him...and me. That’s the truth.”
He lowers his chin and looks away from me.
“I’m sorry, but I know that somewhere deep down you believe that. The accident wasn’t your fault. Or Brandon’s fault. Or my fault. It was just an accident. A terrible accident.”
I can’t see his face, but I hear his breath catch.
“Gabe,” I say softly, placing my hand against his wide back. “It’s okay.”
He reaches over his shoulder and squeezes my hand—and my heart.
I press my cheek to his back and wrap my other hand around his arm. Disarmed by his vulnerability, I close my eyes and whisper, “I miss you, Gabe. I still miss you...so much.”
He turns around and his eyes are liquid gold and molten chocolate pouring into me. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”
I’m suddenly swept back in time, back before everything got so screwed up, when it was all so simple and pure, when he was my whole world and I was his.
I’m pulled back to the present when Roxy comes barreling toward us, barking loud and fast. She pummels into Gabe and starts licking his hands frantically.
“Liv, go!”
“What? No.”
“Go now! Please,” he pleads.
“Gabe, I don’t understand—”
He falls over and starts shaking violently.
Oh, God.
His knees draw up to his chest and his hands form white-knuckled fists. I throw myself over him. “Gabe!” I scream, terrified. Roxy is licking his stone face and whimpering. “Help! Somebody help us!”
After a few agonizing seconds, the earthquake beneath me ceases and Gabe gasps for air. His muscles relax and his hands splay limply on the blanket. He sucks in another lungful of air.
“Gabe?” I scan him from head to toe. “What do I do? Tell me what to do.”
He groans, but doesn’t answer.
“Please be okay,” I whisper quietly.
“I’m okay,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Roxy lies down next to him with her nose against his cheek. He reaches for her head and rubs it weakly. “Good girl, Rox, good girl,” he pants.
My whole body is trembling and my heart feels like it’s going to beat through my chest. That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed. Or at least, a close second. Gabe lies on the blanket unmoving and exhausted as I sit next to him helplessly.
“Gabe, what can I do?” I ask again.
“I’m okay. I just need a minute to catch my breath.” He rolls over and sprawls out on his back, and Roxy licks his face.
I sit silently while he recovers, hugging my knees to my chest, but I can’t stop the tears that fill my eyes. I drop my head and cry quietly. It doesn’t take Gabe long to notice. He sits up slowly and wraps his heavy arm around me. Roxy is still right by his side. “Liv, I’m fine, really.”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“I told you to go. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“Go?” I shoot him a horrified look. “And leave you alone while that happened?”
“That’s why I have Roxy. She won’t let anything happen to me.”
“You really think I would leave you like that?” I work hard to contain the emotion churning inside me. I’m not the same girl he pushed away seven years ago. I sit up straight and say firmly, “I’m not going to leave you when you need me, so please don’t ask me to.”
He lets out a defeated sigh. “I know it looks bad when I’m having a seizure, but it doesn’t hurt. I don’t even feel it. I barely remember it when it’s over.”
“Really?”
“It just feels like I’ve run a marathon afterward.” He laughs softly. “They usually only last a few seconds.”
“Roxy was licking your hands. Is that how she tells you it’s going to happen?”
He wraps his arm around her neck and kisses the top of her head. “Yeah, that’s her method. Not all alert dogs do that. They each have their own brand of medicine. But that’s hers.”
“Roxy,” I call her over, patting my hands on my lap. “Come here.” She circles us and sits in front of me. I hold her silky ears in my hands and lift her face to mine. “You are such a good girl. You did such a good job.” She wags her long tail and licks my face. “Oh, thank you. You did so good. Yes, you did. You’re so smart. You love Gabe, don’t you?” She licks my face again. “Yeah...” I am in love with this dog. Watching her protect Gabe like that was incredible.
Gabe falls back on the blanket again. He looks exhausted. I lie down next to him and he lifts his arm, inviting me into the nook between his arm and his chest. I love the nook. I miss the nook. I just experienced a traumatic situation and need to be nooked. I scoot up next to him and lay my head on his chest, and he wraps his arm around me, comforting me just like he did on my parents’ front lawn during the storm yesterday. I press my cheek to his shirt and inhale a deep breath. My Gabriel. Gain laundry detergent and Old Spice shower gel. I couldn’t smell it when he held me in the rain, but it lingers on his soft, dry shirt now. I take another deep breath of his familiar scent. I smell sawdust too. That’s new.
“Did you just smell me?”
“Nope.”
“Did you get a good whiff of sweat? A little sawdust?”
“I like the smell of sawdust,” I say, and he laughs softly.
“I’m sorry that was scary for you.”
I nod against his chest, feeling the remnants of adrenaline slowly dissipate. “I’m sorry it happens to you.”
After a while, we pack up our picnic and head back to the garage.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask him for the fifteenth time.
“I’m fine, Liv, really. I just need a good night’s sleep tonight. I’ll be good as new tomorrow. And I probably won’t have another seizure for a while. I usually only have one every couple of months.”
“Okay. Well”—I pull out my phone—“why don’t you give me your number and I’ll text you mine? And then you can call me if you need anything.”
He recites his number and I send him a text that says Liv.
“My phone’s inside,” he says, gesturing to the garage, and I smile at the way his southern drawl makes “inside” sound more like in-sad.