Wow.
“Nah, I’m the same.” He winks, pulling me out of my trance.
I shift but quickly realize I don’t know where I’m going to change. I whip back around and catch his gaze low, like it was on my lower back as I retreated. Odd. “Bathroom?”
“You can use the one down the hall, or the one in the guest room. I can wait.” He hooks his thumb behind him, and I move in that direction in a daze. “I came out to grab a towel. You need one?” He reaches behind him, his back muscles moving as he stretches his arm up above the dryer for a folded towel. I thank him when he hands me one and disappear into the guest room.
As I change, I chalk the sudden tension up to my exhaustion. Sleep doesn’t come easily to me anymore, nor do social skills. After we received Mitch’s diagnosis, I closed myself off from most of the world, focusing solely on him and Jacob.
But no more.
I promised myself before we moved out here that I would try. I’d put myself back out there to find friends and a semblance of happiness, for my son’s sake and my own.
I promised my mom. My best friend in Atlanta, Melanie, swore to me that if I didn’t try, she’d fly out here and wrangle me like her daddy taught her on the ranch.
Her statement, coupled with her Southern accent, made me laugh.
I’m glad to be here in Sunnyville, but I miss Melanie and my job in Atlanta. I’d built a life there for over ten years, after all.
But things don’t always pan out the way you expect. I found out the hard way that I can’t control everything around me.
I sigh, studying my reflection in the mirror. Instead of going down a dark path, I quickly change into dry clothes. With a deep breath, I exit the bedroom.
I just need a good night’s sleep.
Maybe even a drink.
“Let’s meet up for a drink later, if you’re up for it,” Staci tells Dax as they stand on opposite sides of the kitchen counter, a bag of pretzels between them. He has a new shirt on, and his hair is effortlessly messy. It’s different than his tamed appearance when he was at the hospital.
Staci smiles at me. “Hey, Clara. You too. Join us for a beer at Hooligan’s tonight.”
“That sounds great, and I’d love to.” I glance through the window outside. “But I have to get Jacob home. The last two days have been very crazy. Definitely next time, though.”
“Totally understand. I don’t blame you.” She flips her fiery red hair over her shoulder as another guy walks in with a water bottle in his hand. “Text me if you can make it,” she says to Dax.
The other guy takes a swig, then wipes his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. I recognize him from the hospital—Brooks. He’d popped his head into the small party earlier.
“You ready?” he asks Staci. “I need to change. I’ve been in these clothes for over twelve hours, much longer than is socially acceptable.”
“Yeah, prima donna. Calm your dick.” She rolls her eyes, then comes toward me with open arms. “Glad you’re here,” she says warmly. “Now you and Dax can stop your FaceTime nonsense. If I had to hear him complain about the terrible reception at the hospital one more time, I’d jam a scalpel in my eye.”
My stomach involuntarily flutters that Dax cared so much about talking to me that he’d complain to her about reception.
“Now who’s the prima donna? Calm your tits,” Brooks mocks, then smiles at me. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Brooks. I work with these two assholes, as you know, and I live with that one”—he points to Staci—“and it’s been a damn delight.”
I shake his hand. “You’re the new guy in town. Dax told me you just recently completed your fellowship.”
“That’s why his hair is already graying—cardiothoracics takes about a thousand years.” Staci pops a pretzel in her mouth.
“Hey”—Brooks touches his hair, turning to Dax, his eyes wide—“I do not have gray hairs.”
I stifle my laugh behind my hand.
“Take him home before he makes me drive him to the nearest CVS for hair dye,” Dax joins in.
“Don’t call it his home. It’s mine.” Staci crosses her arms.
“Did I mention how great it is to be living with you?” Brooks claps his hands. “If I would’ve known you’d jump on my ass the whole time, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“You wouldn’t have to live with me in the first place if you wouldn’t have gotten yourself kicked out of your girlfriend’s house.”
“It’s my house,” he corrects. Beside him, Dax takes a swig of beer, seemingly unaffected by their spat.
“Then why aren’t you living there?” Staci tosses over her shoulder as they head toward the door. Once they get there, she waves goodbye to us.
“As I’ve said many times, I broke up with her, but she refuses to accept it,” Brooks continues. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”
“I would, but since your nasty gym socks are taking over my house at the moment, this is my business.”
Their voices disappear when they shut the front door behind them.
Dax scrolls through his phone, indifferent about his friends’ quarrel.
“They do that often, I guess?” I point toward the front door.
He tucks his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Yes. It’s like working with a divorced couple still fighting over their belongings. Neither of them even cares about those things, but they want to spite the other.”
“Sounds like an interesting work environment.” I hold my hand out for his beer, and he passes it to me without missing a beat.
“Fantastic.”
I smile around the bottle, then take a sip. “It’s good to be home.”
“And it’s damn good to have you here.”
Three
Dax
“No drinks tonight,” Staci says on the other end of the phone after the barbecue. “I got called in to the hospital for a minute, and shit-for-brains is dealing with Kelly drama. I think she moved her niece into their house.” She snickers, and a door slams on her end.
“Sounds like he found a real winner.”
“Like the rest of them. Seriously, where does he find these morons?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Chatter fills her end, and I assume she just stepped into the hospital. We agree to a rain check for drinks and hang up.
I should go home and take a breather. It’s been a long day, but instead of doing the sensible thing, I send Clara a quick text that I’m heading over. I start my truck and pull out of Willow’s driveway, despite my racing mind to go home.
I need sleep.
Water.
Exercise.
I need to expend all this nervous energy coursing through me like the time I went swimming with sharks. It was the summer before medical school—my last hurrah with a few buddies.
I didn’t want to leave Willow, but she insisted she was fine. By that point, she had become used to her disability and even stopped cursing it so much. A nurse came by once a week or so, and we’d become friendly with our neighbor who often checked in on us. Clara’s mom, Helene, helped too. She and her ex-husband did as much as they could for us, which was a godsend.