“JD,” Gabby hisses. “That was an unfair ambush.”
Her husband pinches her arm playfully, as he heads to the stairs. “He’s my brother,” JD says over his shoulder. “Zack is on borrowed time, and I don’t want Gray to have any regrets. He barely lives with the ones he has.”
JD is heavy-handed and often misguided, although he means well here, I’m sure. But I have an overwhelming impulse to defend Gray. “He’s a successful man, and he lives his life just fine,” I say with enough snark to halt JD in his tracks.
He turns and scowls at me, but swallows whatever is on the tip of his tongue, and disappears up the stairs.
“I would tell you to ignore him,” Gabby assures me, “but you already know that. You also know I’m dying for a cocktail.”
If I were married to JD, I’d be dying for a cocktail all the time too. Not my business. I smile. “Then let’s go juice some limes.”
When we get to the kitchen, I set up on the center island to make the drinks. My entire house could fit into this one room, but all of a sudden it seems too small, like the walls are closing in. It’s only a matter of time before Gabby begins the interrogation. I can feel it coming as I juice the limes into a glass measuring cup.
“All right, enough with all the secrecy.”
Oh God. Here we go.
“I can’t believe I had to hear about you and Gray from Lally.”
“There’s no big secret. I didn’t say anything because I don’t know where it’s going between us. We’re taking it slow.”
“He’s taking you to visit his friend the crown prince—who, by the way, is a first-class bastard. A trip halfway around the world doesn’t sound slow to me.”
I’m squeezing the limes so hard they’re practically squealing. Matchmaking is her jam, and she’s not going to stop until there’s a ring on my finger.
“Do you have everything you need for the trip? I’m happy to go shopping with you.”
“I’m all set. Gray—bought me some things.” I can barely spit out the words.
“Ugly things?” she asks. “Because from the puckered expression on your face when you said bought me some things, it seems like he picked out some hideous clothes.”
I side-eye Gabby. She’s barely keeping it together. I start to laugh, and she bursts out laughing too. “Pull yourself together, and get me the tequila.”
“It’s right behind you,” she says. “I want to hear more about the clothes and accessories. You can’t go to Amadi without at least one suitcase full of designer clothes and some bling. It’s just the way it is.”
I measure the tequila carefully, until Gabby clears her throat, signaling that she expects some type of response. “The clothes are beautiful, and there’s enough to fill a dozen suitcases. I’m not comfortable wearing things some man paid for, and I’m not comfortable talking about it, either.” My discomfort might dissuade some people, but Gabby will just press on more gently.
She hands me a large wooden spoon and a pitcher filled with ice. “I could tell you that those Wilder boys have more money than they could spend in ten lifetimes. But I’m sure that won’t make you feel any better than it made me feel when JD started buying me things. It gets easier. That I can say.”
I hold out the spoon to give Gabby a taste of the margarita.
“A little more agave,” she says. “Not too much.” She leans across the counter, resting her forearms on the marble. “Lilah, I’ve got eyes.” Lilah. I got the nickname when little Richie Marshall couldn’t say Delilah. Gabby’s one of the few people left who uses it.
“Gray isn’t just some man,” she says with great emotion. “Everything you have inside, you’ll give him. That means so much more than anything money can buy—especially to men like JD and Gray. After their mother died, they grew up with nothing. The money didn’t love them, or tuck them in at night, or dole out hugs when they were sick or heartbroken. It certainly didn’t stand up tall in the foyer to defend Gray.”
A cloud falls over me while I add another ounce of agave to the pitcher and stir until it dissolves. I don’t know if it’s because I’m telling lies to my best friend, or because my relationship with Gray is temporary. “Gabby, don’t get too invested in my relationship with Gray.”
As I collect the used limes for the trash, I feel her watching me the way she does before she calls bullshit. I can’t get out of here fast enough.
“What about you?” she probes. “Are you invested?”
It’s too damn late for me. I’m a lost cause.
“I’m going to see if Gray needs a little moral support,” I say, drying my hands on a dishtowel. As I leave the kitchen, it occurs to me that I didn’t avoid her question. I answered it straight on.
28
Gray
Damn JD. What an asshole. I should have known he’d pull this shit. He’s always trying to get me to spend time with Zack. I thought Delilah being here tonight would spare me. It takes me weeks to fully recover after these visits. Time that I can’t afford right now.
I push through the set of glass doors that separates Zack’s wing from the rest of Sweetgrass. It’s not because JD has him banished to the far corners of the house. It’s so that they can keep things sanitized, and control the spread of infection in this part of the house. Zack is unlikely to survive a bad flu or pneumonia.
Zack suffered a traumatic brain injury in the accident that killed my mother and sister. He’s been unresponsive since then, but JD, and now Gabby, make sure he has everything he needs to be comfortable. It’s never been that easy for me.
After washing and drying thoroughly, I work a dollop of sanitizer into my hands before entering Zack’s room.
“Hey Gray,” the nurse, Maureen, says with a warm smile. She’s hovering over the bed, adjusting the quilt.
“If I’m interrupting, I can come back.” I don’t wait for a response before I turn to leave.
“Don’t go. You’re not interrupting anything. Zack’s ready for bed. Just waiting for his story.”
That’s a lie. He’s not waiting on anything. Not now. Not ever. It doesn’t matter how much my brothers and Gabby and the nurse act like he’s a normal functioning human being. He’s not. And it’s my fucking fault. I did this to him.
“Are you reading to him tonight?”
I nod, avoiding Zack’s curled limbs and blank stare.
“JD started this last night.” Maureen hands me a book.
The Adventures of Robin Hood. My stomach twists into a knot that nearly knocks me over. Zack loved fantasy stories when he was a kid.
“I’ll take my break while you’re here. But I’m right outside if you need me.”
I nod. I still haven’t looked at Zack. I can’t. It’s too painful. After it happened, when I eventually made the connection, I forced myself to look at him for hours. It was punishment, to remind me of what I did to him—and to the others. But I don’t need reminders. I live with the guilt day in and day out.