Abby:Well, we’ll talk tomorrow. That’s long enough, and I won’t let you hide.
Me:I know, and I love you for it. See you tomorrow.
Abby: back at you.
Sitting inside my father’s former office, I held the photo of me, Rafe, and our parents, all of us smiling as my brother held up his soccer jersey. It’d been taken a few days before he’d left to train with his new team in England.
It’d been such a happy day. We’d eaten at the barbecue place in town, had gone for ice cream afterward, and had sat together playing Uno and laughing every time someone got stuck with a bajillion cards.
Once Rafe had left for England, the house hadn’t been the same. My parents had tried their best, though, to give me extra attention and encouraged me to play with my friends over the summer. Eventually, helping them out with the ranch bonded us and reshaped my childhood.
But I’d always missed my big brother’s smiles, teasing, and how even if he was so much older, he’d still play with me. So when I learned about getting to see him play, I’d been beyond excited. I’d never been on an airplane before and learning how we would see castles like in the fairy tales made me even more impatient.
Then the crash had happened, and everything else had faded away.
At first, I refused to believe West’s words about my brother. Rafe had been so distant at the funeral, hadn’t even visited me for his brief stay in Sonoma, and had fled back to England as quickly as possible.
I’d always viewed it through the lens of my own guilt, though.
Had Rafe blamed himself? Was that the reason he’d never looked at me, or hugged me, or tried to comfort me back then?
I stared at my brother’s smiling face in the photo and tried to imagine if things had been reversed. If I had asked them to visit me, would I feel responsible?
Maybe.
I sighed. Had we both carried guilt unnecessarily, all because we’d never talked to each other?
And could I really accept that a drunk driver was responsible, and I hadn’t killed my parents?
I rubbed a hand over my forehead, closed my eyes, and wished I hadn’t sent West away. Not only because he was a lot more logical about the past, but because things always seemed a little more bearable whenever he was near. There was something about his strong arms around me, or the sound of his heart beating under my ear, or just his heat and scent surrounding me.
Longing rushed through me. I missed his voice, his presence, his everything.
After opening my eyes, I stared at my phone. I could ask him to come back. I probably wasn’t strong enough to truly talk this out just yet. But once he wrapped his arms around me, I’d just feel better.
Before I could change my mind, I found his name and hit Call. I knew he didn’t really keep track of texts that closely, and I wouldn’t be a coward that way.
After three rings, his voice came over the line. “Emmy? What’s wrong?”
I took a deep breath, determined not to cry. “Can you come over? I know it’s late, and you were just here, but…”
“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.”
He grunted, which made me smile, and he hung up.
I stood, the photo still in my hand, and closed the office and locked the storage facility before returning to my house.
Needing some fortification, I took out two wine glasses and a bottle of Starry Wolfe chardonnay and waited.
After what had to be a record-breaking drive, someone knocked at my front door. I opened it, and West pushed his way inside, shut the door, and then pulled me into his arms. I closed my eyes, breathed in the scent of male and something woodsy, and took strength from West’s solid presence.
I didn’t know how long we stood that way before I started crying. But once I started, I couldn’t stop, and soon I was sobbing.
Sobbing for how much I missed my parents.
Sobbing for how much I missed my brother.