Page 36 of Everlasting Promises

Hope bites her plump lower lip and looks down at Rex. “I have some leftover roast chicken and potatoes in the fridge. Will he eat that? I don’t want him to go without.”

Her concern for Rex warms my heart. “That would be appreciated. I can always replace it tomorrow.”

She waves off my offer. “Don’t worry about it. He deserves it for his bravery today.”

I was worried after she expressed her concern about Rex this afternoon. It would’ve been terrible if she couldn’t move past it and feel safe with him, but it seems she’s okay with him. Her acceptance feels as though she trusts me—at least a little—and that’s all I need for now. A woman like Hope, who’s been hurt so deeply, won’t trust easily, so each time I earn a little of it, I’ll celebrate the win.

“Evan, can you please take a shower, wash your hair, and get changed so we don’t have that wet dog smell at the dinner table.”

He leaves the room without an argument—something I would have done when I was his age—leaving Hope and me alone in the kitchen. “He’s a really great kid.”

“Thanks. We had a rough patch there for a little while. His attitude stunk, and he didn’t seem to care about anything. I think it was a turning point for both of us when you brought him home from the gas station. I hate to say it, because I can’t believe he did what he did, but it’s like I have my son back.” She opens the fridge and brings out a bottle of wine, holding it up to me. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sure.”

She pours two glasses and slides one across the counter. “He was only five when we lost Wyatt, and I recently discovered he’s been worried that he’s going to forget his dad.” Hope takes a delicate sip of her wine, and I mirror her, tasting the crisp sweetness. I’m not much of a wine drinker, but I’ll never say no to sharing anything with her.

“Do you talk about Wyatt with him very often?”

Her eyes slide away as she swallows another mouthful of wine. “I haven’t been the best parent. I’ve been too overwhelmed by my grief over what we’ve lost. He didn’t feel he could talk to me about his dad for fear of upsetting me. But I made a promise to him that things would change, and we’ve both been doing better. I’ve made a concerted effort to talk about Wyatt, and I think it’s helped … both of us.” She twists the stem of her glass between her slender fingers. “It hasn’t been as hard to talk about him as I thought it would be.” She raises and drops a smooth shoulder. “It’s been kinda nice.”

“I bet. I know this is nowhere the same as your loss, but I lost one of my best friends nine years ago, and it really helped to haveSebastian, my other best friend, to talk with about her. It helped keep our memories of her alive.”

Hope’s gaze fills with compassion as she moves closer and reaches across the counter to rest her hand on mine. I flip my hand over and link our fingers together, dropping my eyes to where we’re connected as my blood fizzles beneath her touch. The connection between us is so strong that I lose my breath for a moment. When I glance back at her face, she has creases between her brows, and her eyes are fixated on our joined hands, like she can feel the same connection I do.

Slowly, her gaze rises to mine, and I watch her throat move as she swallows. I expect her to pull her hand away, but she doesn’t. She says nothing, but she doesn’t need to. I can feel her compassion and empathy filling the space between us. It’s like she’s absorbing my pain and giving me back a warm hug without wrapping her arms around me. She understands. Just as I understand her pain, even though they’re not on the same level. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but I don’t feel the need to add to our conversation right now.

“What was her name?” Hope murmurs as she squeezes my hand, and I pray she doesn’t let go because I’m not ready to give this moment up.

My lips tip up a little. “Tahlia.” My smile falls away. “We were eighteen and had just finished our senior year when everything went to shit. We’d been best friends since elementary school. Everyone called us The Three Musketeers.” I chuckle dryly. “We saw each other every day and never fought or tired of each other’s company. We were there for her when she lost her dad—and for Sebastian when he lost his mom in a factory fire.”

She presses her lips together, her eyes soft and warm with a glassy sheen to them. They’ve never looked more beautiful. “Can I ask what happened?”

I lift my glass to my mouth and take a sip of the cool wine. “Sure.” It’s not as hard to talk about since so much time has passed. “It started out small. Little things that she’d brush off with a laugh and we thought nothing of it. But looking back, they were warning signs that shouldn’t have been ignored. Maybe … maybe if we’d paid attention, things would have been different for her. I don’t know.” My free hand grows clammy, so I wipe it on the denim covering my thigh and draw in a deep breath. As much as I’ve come to terms with Tahlia’s death, losing her still hurts. “She was incredible with science and math. Her brain was quick and accurate, like a calculator. She was planning to go to college to study structural engineering.” Hope’s eyes widen. “Tahlia was the smartest girl in our year in both subjects, but at the end of our senior year, she struggled with calculations. Things she’d normally solve in a few seconds took much longer. She’d laugh it off and put it down to the stress of finals, and we didn’t think to question it. Then she started to bump into doors and desks and lose her balance going up and down stairs. She even sideswiped a car in the parking lot one day, and even though she laughed it off, we knew it shook her up.”

Hope squeezes my hand again in quiet support and moves a little closer, her thigh brushing against mine. “If you wanna stop, you don’t have to tell me anymore. I don’t want to push.”

I drop my eyes to the counter for a moment to gather my composure, because this next part is brutal. My heart pounds double time, sending my blood rushing through my veins. The whoosh of my life force pulses loudly in my ears. “I haven’t shared this story with anyone else, but I’d like to share it with you, if that’s okay?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“Anyway, one night she was watching TV with her mom, and she lost the feeling in her left leg—like a terrible case of pins and needles. She couldn’t put any weight on it, but eventually, thefeeling disappeared, and she thought nothing of it. Then, about a week later, we were hanging out at my place and her speech became slurred like she was drunk, and then she convulsed and passed out. It scared the shit out of Sebastian and me.” Hope’s gasp rings out like a gunshot in the quiet kitchen. “We called an ambulance and her mom, and they transported her to the hospital. At first, the doctors thought she’d had a stroke, so they ordered special scans, but instead of a blood clot, they found three huge tumors in her brain.”

“Oh, god.” Hope’s slender fingers tighten around mine, and pain radiates from her, hitting me like a tsunami. I silently absorb it as the waves crash over me, tracing her features slowly with my eyes.

“There wasn’t much they could do for her. She was having treatment to shrink the tumors and steroids to reduce the symptoms, hoping it would extend her life. A month later, she had a catastrophic stroke and passed away a few days later.” I shake my head as I think back to that time. We were shattered. “The loss devastated us. She was so young, so smart. Funny and loyal. It felt like a part of me died with her. If her mom and Sebastian hadn’t been there for me, I think I’d still be lost.” I couldn’t rely on my parents to be there for me. They were always too caught up in themselves and each other.

Hope’s shoulders slump. “Life’s so unfair sometimes.”

“Yep. They say only the good die young, and I think I believe that. She was the best out of the three of us.”

The air fryer beeps as Evan’s footsteps sound on the stairs, dragging me from my memories. Hope quickly untangles her fingers from mine and wipes beneath her eyes, turning away from me, leaving me feeling cold, lost, and disoriented. I didn’t plan to share my loss with her; she’s already drowning in grief for her husband and the father of her son. She didn’t need toknow about mine, but it felt cathartic to share it with someone who understands the devastation of loss.

“Is dinner ready yet?” Evan asks as he steps into the kitchen, looking between me and his mom, a frown marring his forehead.

Hope shares one of her fake smiles when she looks at him. “It sure is. I’ll just make the sliders.”

I slip off the stool. “Can I help with anything?”

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