Page 90 of Came the Closest

Colton texted me that they were going out to lunch after their meeting and we were welcome to join them, but I told him to enjoy some guy time. When Indi heard we had at least three hours to ourselves, she pulled out a pen and scratch paper from the drawer beside the stove.

Ten minutes later, we had an itinerary that included paddleboarding, acai bowls, and sunbathing.

We rubbed sunscreen into our cheeks, carried the paddleboards down to the dock, and set out. We stopped frequently to dunk ourselves under just to fend off the relentless July sun, and we looked like drowned rats every time we crawled back onto our boards, laughing so hard we had no grip strength.

Sufficiently sun- and water-drenched an hour later, we realized we forgot towels inside, so we flopped onto the searing dock to air dry. Indi pointed out a starfish shaped cumulus cloud, I narrowly avoided being stung by a wasp, and we belly laughed all the way back up to the house when she imitated my wasp-induced scream.

Now, after leftovers for lunch, we’re tying our shoes in the living room. Ember texted Indi to ask if we wanted to play pickleball with her, Sydney, and Jolene. I wasn’t sure I’d contribute much after paddleboarding, but we agreed to meet them at the court shortly after noon.

“So.” Indi tugs her laces into a floppy bow. “You and my brother, huh?”

It’s a question I was expecting, but Colton and I feel so new. He hasn’t told his family about retiring yet, and we haven’t told them we’re more than friends.

Well. Friends who are fake engaged who are now…dating?

No wonder there’s an it’s complicated option on Facebook.

“I—”

“I knew it would happen,” Indi cuts in. “You two can’t sit at a table together without nearly combusting.”

I meet her eyes across the living room. “You did?”

“Cheyenne, visually impaired people could sense the connection you two have. Yes, I knew.”

I lift my brows. “Like the connection you and Grayson Adair have?”

The playfulness in her expression vanishes. She shakes her head firmly and pushes to her feet. “I’ll get my bag from my room and then we can go.”

“Wait.” I try to catch her by the shoulder, but she flinches out of my grasp. “Indi—”

Blowing me off completely, she disappears down the hall. Her tennis shoes thump upstairs quickly. Momentarily, I don’t move. I consider letting Colton try to talk to her later instead, but I won’t. Inexplicably, I feel like I should broach this topic, whatever it is.

I text Ember to let her know we’ll be a little late, to which she replies with no worries! and the pink heart emoji, and then I leave my phone on the island. What Indi needs to discuss will be shared with Sam and the boys, but right now, it will be between us.

I pause when I reach the doorway of Indi’s room. Her unzipped crossbody bag rests on the foot of her bed, but Indi herself stands at the window. She has something in her hand, her gaze pointed outside. She might be looking at the jutting shoreline of Gull Point, or at the boats zigzagging across the lake.

Maybe none of the above.

I don’t say anything. Just like her brothers, she won’t talk if she doesn’t want to. The last thing I want to do is push her. I tip my head against the doorframe and let my eyes wander around the room.

A tube of red lipstick rests on the wooden dresser next to a framed picture of Milo, Indi, and Kathleen with a crack down the middle of the glass. Boldly colored clothes are visible through the partly open closet door. Gold jewelry sits in a small white dish on one nightstand, and a stack of books rests on the other. Her worn suitcase is tucked into the corner with a duffel bag on top of it.

There’s not a single personal belonging in this room that couldn’t be packed in less than ten minutes.

One minute becomes three-, and three-minutes stretch into ten. I’m a patient person, but this tests me. I give her another minute before I start talking, and I can only pray she doesn’t bolt.

“Indi, why did Milo tell me you were in a coma?”

She flinches at the word. “Was that before or after he told you I almost died?”

The way she asks the question—bluntly, of course, but also aloofly—makes me inhale sharply. “He didn’t say anything about that.”

“Well, now you know,” she says coolly. She curls her fingers tightly around the slip of paper in her hand. It looks like a photograph. “We should head out so we don’t keep them waiting.”

This time, I do stop her. I stand in the doorway, and when she looks me directly in the eyes as the paper flutters to the ground, I don’t physically react to her bloodshot gaze. I don’t flinch at her puffy flushed cheeks or her quivering lips. I wait until I’m confident she won’t leave, and I bend to pick up the paper.

Looking back at me is a faded, grainy picture of a younger Grayson Adair.

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