Page 12 of Return to Us
Jacob: I don’t have to tell her, she knows.
Since the crash, Jacob and I have kept in touch. The entire flight crew has. He offered to have me stay on his family farm in Pennsylvania while I recovered, but that was far too much of an inconvenience for him. Instead, I’m here, living it up on my mother’s couch in North Carolina. Lucky me.
Me: Well, I just wanted to let you know your movie is subpar.
Jacob: Noted. How was therapy today?
It’s really sad that a Hollywood star knows my entire life’s schedule.
Me: It was fine.
Jacob: Brenna said you’re always welcome to talk to her.
Because that wouldn’t be awkward at all. There is nothing even remotely inappropriate about my and Jacob’s friendship, but there’s no way I want to spill my guts about the crash to her. She’s dealing with his trauma, whether he wants to think he has any or not.
Me: I appreciate it.
There’s a slight ringing in my ear, which is the early signs of a possible migraine. I am so fucking over this. I’m tired of my head and all the nonsense that comes along with this injury. There’s no timeline to recovery either. I could wake up tomorrow and be healed or I could still be dealing with it years from now.
My neurologist keeps saying how the brain doesn’t work like a broken bone. There’s no telling how long it’ll take to heal. Or if it ever will.
I get up, turn the television off, and go to the kitchen. I drain two big glasses of water, knowing that, if I’m dehydrated, it makes it worse. Then I take my medication and head out to the porch swing.
I grab the pillow and blanket, close my eyes, and let the quiet surround me.
“And I thought you never napped?” A deep voice causes my eyes to fly open.
I sit up much too fast, hand resting on my throat. “Jesus!”
“Sorry,” Grayson says with a smile. “I knocked and was getting ready to leave when I heard you snore.”
“I don’t snore,” I say as I try to focus on a fixed point to stop the spinning.
“Next time, I’ll record you to prove otherwise.”
I should’ve picked something other than Grayson to be my fixed point. Now, I look like I’m staring, which I am just not for the reason he probably thinks I am.
The aqua-blue in his eyes mixes with the green, making them look like the ocean as you fly over. My lips part, and I’m taken back to when those eyes did strange things to my belly. One look from him would make any girl feel cherished.
And he did cherish me. He was a great boyfriend, I was just too young to know how to handle the obstacles thrown our way.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice a little breathy.
“I wanted to come and actually talk. Last week . . . wasn’t my finest moment.” He leans against the rail, head tilted so it rests on the pillar as though he’s got nothing but time. The casual stance is at war with the apprehension in his eyes.
“I appreciate that, but it’s fine. You didn’t say anything wrong.”
“No, Jess, we were friends and I cared about you. I was a complete and total asshole.”
“Yeah, you kind of were.”
He looks at his feet. “I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I didn’t know,” he says, looking away. “I didn’t know about the crash.”
“Oh.”
