Page 49 of Every Chance After

In her dizziness, she leans toward me. I gently scoop her into my arms as I stand.

She gasps, wrapping her arms weakly around my shoulders and muttering, “Grady.”

“Everything’s okay, but here’s what’s going to happen,” I say, edging her through the hallway. “I’m going to take care of you. You’re going to let me. We’ll get through this together. No arguments.”

Her head falls to my chest, forgoing any further discussion.

I lay her gently onto her unmade bed, careful of her left side. Her red hair flays out behind her against the white pillowcase, reminding me ofthatday when her head was against the concrete. All her pain is my fault. My responsibility. My doing. And just like that day, I can’t leave her.

I wouldn’t want to, anyway. Even if I hadn’t caused this. Something about her shatters my rule about not getting involved. Iwantto be here.

After tucking her in, I return to the living room and do what Ineverdo. I call in sick to the clinic—baffling Aunt Elena.

My second call is to the hospital unit, and luckily, Ivy answers the phone. Once I have the necessary information, I check Marina’s medicine log—she’s up-to-date on everything. Then, I grab the ice pack and return to Marina.

She’s in the same pained heap that I left her in. I draw the curtains to make the room darker, kick off my shoes, and climb into bed beside her. I wrestle her pillow into my lap with her on it and gently apply the ice pack.

She gasps at the cold shock but soon smiles and sighs as the numbing relief hits her.

“It’s a migraine,” I say softly. “It may be a side effect of the anesthesia. It happens. Ivy will speak to your surgeon and ask her to prescribe a migraine medication for you. Once it’s called in and ready, Mom will drop it off. Then, we’ll balance that with your pain pills.”

“Oh, never had a migraine before.”

“Yeah, they suck.” I slip my fingers under the cold icepack, gently massaging her temples.

Her crinkled brow releases immediately, and the tension in her shoulders deflates.

“Grady, thank you.”

Her genuineness catches me off guard. I hear thank you’s all the time, quick responses to me taking care of a pet or solving a cattle problem. Mom rattles off thank you’s as often as please’s, especially when her tasks get done. Even Marigold says it easily now—a social expectation she’s learned well. Thank you’s drop into my don’t-care file along with a dictionary of words that are nice, but don’t mean much.

Marina is a thank-you-type person, but I feel warmed by her gratitude for such simple things as a phone call and an ice pack—warmed by her generally.

There’s a delicate strength to her that shines through her beauty. It makes me think of my grandmother’s heavy crystal dishes that Mom pulls out for Thanksgiving. How the cut glass reflects the candlelight. Soft and strong together.

Mom’s words come to mind, how Marnie would haggle for her mom’s pills at fifteen. There’s no mom here now, fussing over her like mine would, no buzz of her phone, asking if she’s okay, no nothing. Hell, she couldn’t even reach out to one person to pick her up from the hospital.

She’s lived in this town since she was a teenager. Where the fuck are her friends, at least?

Marina, how the hell are you so alone?

If she were a recluse or an asshole, I’d get it. I’m the asshole who tries to be a recluse, and it doesn’t work out most of the time; avoiding people is hard work. But she’s friendly, outgoing, beautiful, even interesting. She’s the type who’d befriend anyone. But no one’s here for her.

Marina’s existence comes into focus as I rub her head. She’s a fucking golden retriever, friendly and happy-go-lucky, almost to a fault, always smiling. But without a family. Close connections aren’t inherent for her. She exists in the background of other people’s lives at Sunny’s. She might as well be a mascot—everyone’s happy to see her, but no one takes her home.

I don’t get why. She is beautifully easy to be with, even for me. Or maybe the easiness is just us. We’re trauma-bonded. Connected. She must feel it, too—I wouldn’t be in her bed otherwise. She falls asleep, her rhythmic breathing lulling me.

I didn’t sleep much last night either, plagued by Marina-nightmares. They were just a manifestation of my anxiety over her healing, but those dreams rattled me. In the worst one, pieces of her were scattered all over the road, and I tried desperately to put her back together again. A finger here. A freckle there. I remember finding her smile and thinking, how can she still smile? I gathered all the pieces but couldn’t hold them together.

Relax, Grady.A deep breath centers me as I lean against her headboard.

The world will slow down if you let it. If you stop setting the pace.Aunt Elena’s words circle with Marina’s, loosening my tension.

She’s here. She’s sleeping. She’s okay. I run my hand over her forehead and through her hair. The world gets quiet.

A dreamless sleep swallows me up.

Knocking wakes me. Soft, at first. Then, harder.

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