Page 30 of Tell Me Again

God, she should be mad. If she knew, she would be mad. It’s not right.

“Bren,” I say, my voice catching in my throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what—what was...” Except I do know. So why am I still saying I don’t?

“Shh, whatever that was, you’re okay now.” She kisses me lightly—just a brief brush of her lips against mine—and then she kisses my forehead and hugs me to her again.

“But—”

“You’re okay. You’re safe here, Josh.”

Dammit. It’s like . . . she knows or something.

“Bren, I...” God, I need to tell her. I have to say something.

And she must know, because she shakes her head like she doesn’t want to hear it as much as I don’t want to say it. Then she slips off my lap and settles back in her spot next to me with her hand on my chest, pressing into me just a little. It grounds me. It keeps me here this time—here with her.

I move my hand up over hers because that feels even better.

And we get back to watching the movie, although I’m not sure it feels quite as relaxing anymore.

***

The movie ends maybe about thirty minutes later, and rather than flipping through more channels to find something else, Brenna reaches over me to grab the remote and then switches the TV off.

I figure even though it’s not terribly late, she’s probably pretty tired. I did sort of put her through an emotional wringer today. And when she leans on me again, resting her head on my chest this time, all I can seem to do is hold her. I close my eyes and wrap her up in my arms, and she melts into me with a long sigh that does sound tired. Or maybe it’s sad. Or resigned.

I kiss the top of her head, but as I do, there’s this feeling—and it’s kinda hard to describe, but it’s sort of like there’s something that’s just changed between us. It’s a feeling deep in my gut. And it’s not pleasant.

God, I have to talk to her.

“Babe, I—” My cell phone rings, and I flinch at the sound, my arms tightening around her. “Ah, sorry, I-I’ll just...”

I reach over to the nightstand where my phone sits, intending to silence it because I can’t just keep letting this go. But when I see the number—a local one I don’t recognize—there’s an odd tingle inmy chest.

“Who is it?” Brenna asks quietly. She sits up and pushes away from me a bit as my arm drops from around her shoulders.

“Um, I’m not—I’m not sure.”

And that’s only partly true. I mean, I’ve got a pretty good idea of whom it might be. But I should let it go to voicemail. He can leave a message—if it’s him, that is. It could be anyone, really. It could not be him. But it doesn’t even matter. I should let it go to voicemail, and he can leave a message, and then I can call him back. Because there’s something much more important that needs to happen right now.

I look up at Brenna as the ringtone continues, and she’s staring at it too. I can’t really read her expression—it’s sort of blank-ish. Blank-ish with a hint of... disappointment.

“Aren’t you gonna answer?” She bites her lip and then looks up at me, and I swear there’s something in her eyes that’s just so understanding and yet sad at the same time.

Dammit. I should ignore it. I should.

But apparently I’m terrible at doing the things I should, and I’m much too prone to making decisions I shouldn’t. So I nod and then quickly scoot over away from her to the edge of the bed, swing my feet off to the floor, and stand as I swipe up to answer the call.

“Uh, hello?”

“Hey, Josh? Hey, it’s me, Coop.”

It is him. God. A rush of warmth courses through me, and I close my eyes at the sensation. “H-hey. Hey, Coop. Um...”

“Sorry, uh, is now a bad time? I can call back if—”

“No, no, it’s good. It’s fine. Um, Bren and I just finished watching a movie and...” I turn around again, and Brenna’s sitting cross-legged on the bed now, watching me with that same expression—a sort of wistful, thoughtful understanding. She smiles, though, and it grounds me again. I somehow manage a weak smile in return.

“Ah, ’kay, uh, I won’t keep you long,” he says. “I just, um, wanted to ask if Thursday is still good for you? I mean, assuming I’m off work, of course.”

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