Page 70 of Finding Our Reality

Holt stares at our intertwined fingers but doesn’t say anything. “I grabbed you a beer, Crutch.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

Ry reaches across and twists the lid on my bottle of water, opening it for me, while Holt puts the most glorious sandwich I’ve ever seen on my plate. We stuff our faces and small talkabout nothing important. When finished, we clear the table, and Holt discreetly heads inside, leaving me and Ry on the patio alone.

Ry leans back in his chair, splaying his legs and studying me. I wipe my face with my fingertips. “What? Do I have cheese on me again?”

“No, you sucked that thing down like a vacuum cleaner. No time to get anything on your face.”

Laughing, I throw a leftover napkin at him.

“No, I was looking at your hair. Seriously, I can’t get over how wavy it is now, when it used to be so straight. It’s even curlier when it’s wet.”

I shrug, avoiding more of the conversation. “Thank you for the roses. They’re beautiful.” I nod at the house where Holt took my roses inside with him.

He sighs, rubbing his fingers back and forth across his lips. “So… my grandma passed away two years after I came back home.”

I turn abruptly at the change of topic. “I know. I’m so very sorry.”

“How do you know?”

I cock my head. “Excuse me?”

“How did you find out? If Marcum didn’t talk to you about me and your family didn’t talk to you about me, how did you find out?”

I shrug again, biting my lip. “I guess I just heard it somewhere.”

He makes an interesting noise. “When I left for the Marines, I was worried about her. I couldn’t even call to check on her for a long time. I finally got to where I could call once a week, and I was surprised to find out that someone was sending fresh, orange roses to Grandma every single week. When I asked about it, the staff told me they made a promise to keep the donoranonymous. After a couple of months, the donor started sending fresh flowers for the dining area too.”

My heart thunders in my chest. I wipe my sweaty palms on the beach towel, underneath the table. “Huh. That’s nice.”

“It is, isn’t it? Weekly fresh flowers can’t be cheap. I mean, we’re talking about five-and-a-half years’ worth of flowers.”

Stars twinkle above us. Cicadas and tree frogs chirp around us. It’s nowhere near as loud as the homestead used to be, but it’s still a nice noise. I stand up, pulling the damp towel closer around my body. “Thanks so much for the food and the flowers. I should head inside. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, several web calls.”

He doesn’t let me take too many steps before he’s crowding me, invading my space. He reaches out, hooking a finger around mine as I hold my towel closed. “Please tell me you didn’t use that cheating asshat’s money to buy flowers for Grandma.”

There’s no point in denying it; he knows I sent the orange roses to her. Every week, without fail, I sent them. “Of course not. Despite what you did to me, I would never disrespect you that way. I worked for spending money in college. I did online tutoring for some of Holt’s friends and teammates— proofread their papers, helped with their homework, advised them on their college essays, and I did some transcribe work for some of the attorneys at Mr. Plott’s firm. That’s surprisingly good money.”

“Your parents actually let you work?”

I lift my eyebrows. “Remember, I wasn’t on the best of terms with them when I left town.”

He nods. His finger moves from my hand to my shoulder, and he grabs a small curl, twirling it around and around. “Why? Why would you do that? Take care of her like that?”

“You didn’t just leave me when you left. I didn’t want to punish your grandma for our issues. Orange roses helped herremember your grandpa. I didn’t want her to be alone. I didn’t want her to feel the way I felt.”

“Is that how you felt? Alone?”

I don’t answer. And I don’t like his question. I straighten my shoulders, and his hand falls to his side.

“But you weren’t alone. You had Hudson, right?” His voice is strangled and worried. Worried of what answer he may receive.

“I need to go inside.” This time he lets me walk away. He’s too scared to make me stay. Too scared of the truth. Just like me. Before walking through the door, I turn back to him. “And thank you for the apology. It was nice to hear. Our time together was the best part of my life too.”

I close the door before he sees the tears fall from my eyes.

I hate crying in front of people.

---