Page 62 of Brazen Being It

“That’s enough.”

I rest my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, like always. I think I could fall asleep just listening to it.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“For all of it.”

He kisses the top of my head. “You’re my girl. That means your battles are mine too.”

I don’t know what I ever did to deserve a man like this. But I’m done running from the good.

The next morning, there’s a sticky note on the bathroom mirror.

You’ve got this. Proud of you.Drew

I laugh, brush my teeth, and head out the door feeling like a damn superhero.

The testing center smells like pencils and stress.

My palms are sweaty before I even sit down, but I keep hearing Mrs. Ledbetter’s voice in my head:“You’ve already done the hard part, Cambria. Showing up.”

So I do. I show up. I sit down. I breathe.

And I open the test.

It’s harder than I expected. Easier than I feared. Some questions feel like speaking a language I almost forgot I knew. Others feel like riddles I’ve only just now grown the brain to solve. But I keep moving.

Math is the hardest. Always has been. But I break it into pieces, one step at a time. Same way I’ve been breaking my whole life into pieces just to rebuild it.

When I finish, my brain is mush and my back hurts and I’m starving, but I walk out of that room taller than I went in.

A week later, I’m wiping down the diner counter when my phone buzzes. It’s Drew.

Hey. Can you take an early break? Meet me outside?

I frown, toss my rag into the sink, and head for the back entrance.

He’s leaning against his truck, arms crossed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He jerks his head toward the passenger side. “Get in. I’ve got a surprise.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re parked in front of a small rental house about ten minutes from our trailer. It’s nothing fancy—just two bedrooms, a porch swing, and a mailbox that leans a little to the left—but it’s got a homey feeling.

“This is for your mom,” he says. “Sober living is too far away. But this place, it’s sort of a half way in between place. The whole community is rentals for people fresh out of rehab. A church owns it and runs the charity. They keep counselors available for tenants all hours. It’s the next best thing to sober living.”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

“She’ll need somewhere to land. Somewhere safe. I talked to the landlord. I’ll cover the first few months while she gets back on her feet.”

Tears prick my eyes. “Drew…”

“I know you want to take care of everyone. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

I throw my arms around him. He catches me easily, burying his face in my neck.

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