Page 77 of Sweetest in the Gale
“And you went alone?”
She paused. “Yeah.”
He’d known that. Somehow, he’d known that before even asking the question. “Why didn’t you ask me to come with you? Or one of your other friends? Why did you go by yourself?”
The thought of her scared and isolated gutted him, and he didn’t understand the necessity for it. He knew she had a trusted, faithful circle of friends. Why hadn’t she called them into service?
Most of all, why hadn’t she called him?
And why did that omission sting so fucking badly?
She shifted in her seat. “Most of them have kids at home, or they work during the day. I didn’t want to bother anyone.”
He had to ask. He couldn’t stop himself, much as he didn’t want to make this—any of this—about him.
“What about me? You know I can set my own schedule most days, or at least take an hour off if I need one. And my kids are already out on their own, so I’ve got nothing but time.”
“Most guys are uncomfortable with female stuff.”
He slanted her a look.
She immediately caved. “Okay, okay. I know you’re not like that. Viv always bragged about how you’d buy her tampons without an ounce of self-consciousness.” Another look, and she squirmed again. “But…I guess I thought you’d…”
When she trailed off, he narrowed his eyes on the road. “I’d what?”
He’d be too busy? Or impatient? What?
Her tone was reluctant, but she said it. “You’d been through enough drama already. You’d spent enough time trying to help everyone around you. I didn’t want to be one more burden.”
Viv. This was about Viv.
And maybe Elizabeth wasn’t entirely wrong about his current stance on drama. He avoided it whenever and however he could, which meant no contact with his ex. No dating. No plans for another marriage. Nothing but work and occasional visits to the D.C. area so he could help his boys settle into their adult lives.
But there was drama, and there was need, and Elizabeth should know he could differentiate one from the other. “Helping a friend isn’t an imposition. I would have come with you to the mammogram. Gladly. You’re my friend, for God’s sake.”
“I asked you to come with me to the town hall.” She offered the reminder like a gift, something to pacify his obvious discontent. “I didn’t bother DMing anyone else.”
He could feel his chest puff out a tad. God, he was pitiful.
“Because you knew I’d say yes?”
“That.” With a faint rustle of clothing, she turned to him, and he could feel her gaze against the side of his face like the sun. “And you’d support me no matter what I said or did. You’re a rock in times of trouble.”
She knew about the failed rehab attempts near the end of his marriage. The way he’d tried to patch together his splintering relationship despite late-night phone calls from unfamiliar bars and police reports and texts from Viv’s boss wondering where she was.
He wouldn’t go back to any of that. But a few years of therapy had left him able and willing to handle everyday trouble. The grief and problems of normal life, not addicted life.
Pulling into his driveway, he hit the remote for the garage door. After positioning the truck inside the oversized berth, he turned off the engine.
Her fingers, now warm, were still laced through his.
“Then let me be your rock,” he told her.
“What…” Her broad forehead creased. “What does that mean?”
She needed a financial buffer. His wasn’t huge, not after divorce expenses and alimony and lingering rehab bills, but he had one, and he was more than happy to share it with his friend in distress.
She needed support through the biopsy process and—God forbid—any necessary follow-up treatment. He could provide that. Hewantedto provide that.
