Page 48 of Downpour

“When do you want me to pick you up?”

I paused. “What?”

“I’ll just hang out at your house until you’re done. You can just text me when you’re ready. I’ll keep my phone on me.”

I shook my head. “You’re eating too.”

12

RAY

The ramp leading up to my parents’ porch rattled as I pushed myself up to the door. I could smell the pot roast from the door, and my stomach rumbled.

“Whatever that is, I want your mom to teach me how to make it,” Brooke whispered.

I wasn’t going to argue with that. Even though I was starving, my appetite vanished as soon as we got to the door.

“You okay?” Brooke said quietly.

I sighed and stared at the door. “I haven’t been at a family dinner since before the accident.”

“Not even when you were recovering?”

I shook my head. “I’d stay in my room. I couldn’t use my hands. Someone always had to help me eat. And I…” Bile bubbled up my throat. “I hated it.”

“I can’t even imagine.” Brooke squeezed my hand. “We can always turn around.”

The fact that she offered to leave and meant it was everything to me.

“Nah. Letting you have my mom’s pot roast is the least I can do for you.”

Brooke laughed and opened the door.

The flurry of conversation inside died at the creak of the hinges.

Cassandra’s jaw dropped, along with her fork. “Oh my god. Pollyanna got him to leave the house.”

I flipped her the bird.

Brooke giggled.

My nieces were seated by Cassandra. I could feel their eyes on me as I wheeled inside.

God, they looked so grown. Bree was fifteen. She’d be driving soon. I remembered holding her when she was just a baby. Entertaining her as a toddler when Christian was dealing with funeral arrangements for his first wife.

Gracie was a fucking teenager now. Thirteen. Twelve years ago, she would fall asleep on my chest. For a while, I was the only one she would stop crying for.

I had watched them grow up like they were mine. I used to be Superman to them. Invincible. They used to look at me like I hung the moon.

Those two used to be my world.

My mom jumped up from the table, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve. “Come in. Come in. I’ve got places already set for you both. You’re over by Nate, Becks, and Charlie.”

Charlotte, or Charlie as everyone called her, looked absolutely giddy at the prospect of new people to give her attention. My newest niece’s high chair was pulled up to the table, and she seemed to be having a gourmet dinner of Cheerios after an attempt at pot roast went awry.

I kept my head down as we went to the other side of the long farmhouse table. Nate pulled my chair out of the way and made space for me to park my wheelchair at the table. Brooke took a seat beside Becks and immediately started talking.

Becks was a journalist. If there was anyone who could keep up with Brooke’s chatter, it was her.

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