Page 30 of False Start
Then
AFTER A SHORT TIME, I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to being touched by Bryant any time we’ve been around each other. It’s almost like a slap in the face when I realize I can’t simply hug him anymore. He doesn’t crowd me like he used to, and I find I miss his nearness as we camp in the ICU waiting room.
“Why don’t we go home and grab some shut-eye,” Mom says around two am. “We aren’t doing Grandma any good if we don’t take care of ourselves.”
“I rode with Ben. I can drive you home in the Jeep,” Bryant says.
“Aren’t you tired?” I ask.
“I’m still wired from the game. It’ll catch up with me soon enough, but I’m wide awake for now.”
I throw him my keys. “Okay. I’ll take you up on your offer. I’m dead on my feet.”
Once it’s just the two of us inside my car, I ask him, “How mad was Tombs that you left this morning?”
“Stroke level.”
“Yeesh.”
“He’ll get over it.”
There’s a lull in conversation, and I begin to regret my knee jerk reaction to Charity. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “For believing Charity.”
“I’m sure she was convincing.”
“Although there’s no excuse for believing her, she completely blindsided me.”
“If I put myself in your shoes and some dude says you blew him while we’ve been talking, I’m blowing a gasket. I don’t know if I’m keeping my cool by the time I get to you. So I don’t blame you. I just think I need to give you space to figure out if you really want to pursue this with me. And to be honest, I can’t invest anymore feelings in this until I know you’re on board. I’m just as afraid of getting hurt as you are.”
He’s right. Of course, he’s right. I completely understand where he’s coming from, but the distance I forced him to put between us hurts more than I thought it would. I lose myself in my thoughts for the remainder of the trip to my mom’s house. He turns the radio on to drown out the silence, and I’m grateful for it. I don’t want him to hear my hushed cries.
As soon as we pull down our long driveway and park, I leave the vehicle without a word and go inside. I head straight for my room, lock the door behind me, dive under the covers, and take deep breaths. This is my process for dealing when I’m overwhelmed. I just need a few minutes to catch my breath after a hard day.
“Zhanna?” Mom calls and knocks at my bedroom door. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
I sniffle one time, and then I get my shit together. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve told Ben and Bryant they could stay in the pool house as long as they need it.” My mom is such a hospitable, southern woman.
I throw the covers back and leave the bed to open the door. “Thank you for setting them up.”
“Are those tears for Grandma or Bryant?”
I dash them away. “Ugh. Is my face red and splotchy?”
“Yes, dear. Are you going to be okay?”
“Aren’t I always?”
Disapproval flashes across her face. “It’s okay not to be okay sometimes. It’s part of being human. You don’t have to be so tough all the time, sweetheart. Now, talk to me about Bryant.”
“He’s giving me space and I hate it. I mean, I thought it’s what I wanted.”
She smirks. “Reverse psychology. Well played, Bryant.”
“What?”
“He gave you what you thought you wanted in hopes you’d see you actually want what is right in front of you. It looks like it worked out for him.”
