Page 5 of Silver Lining Love

I inputted the address of the hospital and set it as my destination. Once that was done, I gave her the clothes I’d brought. “I grabbed you a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt if you get cold.” Her barely-there dress wouldn’t do anything to keep her warm, and I knew hospitals could be chilly. Not to mention, this could be a long night and her dress, although sexy as hell, didn’t appear to be the most comfortable attire.

She took the sweatshirt and sweatpants and set them on her lap. We drove in silence. The cab of my truck was small, but I kept my attention firmly focused on the road in front of me in an attempt to give her privacy and space to process what was happening. But when I heard her take in a shaky breath, I glanced over. That’s when I saw that her cheeks were covered in tears. She’d been silently crying beside me.

Growing up the second oldest of nine siblings, I was used to tears. When any of my little brothers cried, I didn’t like it, but it didn’t rip my heart out like it did when my baby sister Harmony or my mom did. I’d never dealt well with females crying. Especially females I cared about.

And I cared about Whitney a lot, even though I’d done everything in my power not to. I’d also tried not to be attracted to her, but that ship had sailed the first time I’d seen her.

I’ll never forget the day my entire life changed. It was a random Tuesday and I walked out of my front door to go to work when I noticed a moving truck in the Foster’s driveway. The couple who owned the house next door to mine hadn’t lived in it for years because they’d both gone into assisted living.

Before she even turned around, I’d known I was in trouble. Her long chestnut brown hair shimmered in the morning sun and fell down past her mid-back. She had generous curves that would make a monk sweat which were showcased in the cutoff jean shorts that hugged her hips and ass like a second skin.

I’d tried to ignore the way that my body had responded to seeing her. But when I walked toward my truck she must have heard me. She turned around and lifted her hand to shield her eyes as she asked, “Are you from Texas?”

I hadn’t responded. Instead, I just stopped and stared at her. Her large blue eyes were intoxicating and for a brief second, I forgot where I was, who I was, and I sure as hell forgot where I was from. I forgot to breathe. Everything around me stilled. It was the strangest sensation. In my thirty-five years, I’d still never experienced anything like it before or since.

“The truck.” She pointed to my lifted Ford F-150. “It screams Texas.” She took a step towards me. “Hi, I’m Whitney Foster, your new neighbor.”

I realized that I had to speak. I opened my mouth and hoped that sound would come out. “Wyatt Briggs.”

“Nice to meet you, Wyatt Briggs. I hope y’all won’t mind if I drop by to borrow some sugar from time to time,” she said in what I could only assume was an attempt at a Texas drawl. Even her horrible accent wasn’t enough to break the spell that she’d cast on me.

Then, slowly, the corners of her full, pouty mouth lifted. I watched as if it was happening in slow motion, as a wide smile spread on her face. Her beauty had been a strong opening act, but her smile was the real showstopper. It wrapped around me like a warm hug and simultaneously hit me square in the chest like a punch. It knocked the wind out of me and comforted me at the same time.

Her smile was the sort of smile that people wrote love songs about. It was the sort of smile that could make the darkest day bright. It was the sort of smile that men would start wars over.

I’ll never forget staring down at her, thinking that the creature standing in front of me was otherworldly. Ethereal. An angel. Honestly, the first few minutes of our meeting were a blur to me. She was stronger than any shot I’d ever taken and more potent, too. I was instantly drunk off her presence.

She seemed totally unaware of the effect she had on me as she explained that she was a vlogger, had inherited the house from her grandparents, had just graduated from college, and had done it a year earlier than her peers. She made a joke about having a degree but not being able to drink, legally, to celebrate it. Her 21st birthday was still months away.

Hearing that sobered me right up. She was young. She wastooyoung. And besides her being a decade younger than me, she also lived her life on social media. Literally, that was her job.

I was a private person by nature and necessity. As a contract employee who worked in cyber security for the government, I had zero digital footprint.

Despite my initial visceral reaction to the brunette beauty, I determined then and there she was completely inappropriate. So, after helping her move in, I resolved to keep my distance. That proved to be easier said than done. Whitney Foster possessed a magnetic quality that I was powerless to resist.

In my defense, over the five years she’d lived next door to me, I’d spoken under a hundred words to her. Yes, I’d taken out her trash and recycling and made sure her car was in working order. And yes, I’d installed a security system in her house and made sure that any assholes who were hanging around—that she didn’t want to hang around—knew I lived next door. But that was it.

I’d told myself that I was just keeping an eye on her because she was young, and alone but even I knew I was full of shit. I cared about the girl, whether I wanted to or not.

It was a special kind of torture knowing that Whitney slept, dressed, andshoweredless than a hundred yards away from me. I’d even considered moving. But the thing that stopped me was not being there in moments like these. Moments when she needed me.

As I drove down the highway, I kept glancing over to check on her. She was still staring straight ahead as tears slid down her cheeks. An urgency to fix this, to ease her pain, roared in me, but there was nothing I could do. I was helpless. I hated feeling helpless.

Every protective cell in my body was screaming for me to wrap Whitney in my arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. To tell her that I wouldn’t let anything hurt her. But I knew that I couldn’t do that.

I had no idea how severe the accident had been. If both her sister and brother-in-law were in surgery and their next of kin were being contacted, it couldn’t be good.

We’d been on the road for about twenty minutes when Whitney’s phone rang. She jumped and then scrambled to pick it up. “Hello?”

My eyes cut to her, and I saw her face relax.

“Oh, hi, Gemma. No, I’m going there now. Are the kids awake?” There was a brief pause before she shouted, “No! Don’t wake them up! I’ll call you when I know something. Okay, bye.”

She set the phone down on her lap, and her shoulders began to shake as a floodgate of tears fell down her cheeks. She reached up and wiped them off as she sniffed. “That was the babysitter. She called Addi’s cell and talked to a doctor who gave her my number. The kids are asleep. I told her not to wake them up.”

“How old are the kids?” I wasn’t sure if I should be asking her questions or not. I didn’t know what I should do.

“Mikey is nine, Alice just turned four, and Benjamin, or um…Benji, that’s what they call him, is just a few months old. This is the first time Addi went out after she had him. It was a date night,” she choked on a sob.

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