Page 8 of What We Had

I pulled my eyes away from the team as they worked and caught Bennett’s eyes tracing over me. He set his jaw, lips pursed. Okay, so… what category do I put that in? Maybe I need to create a new tracker. “What Does Benny Think of Me?”

Commotion down the hall drew everyone’s attention. Rachel Brooks arrived with hasted steps, a bag on her shoulder dropping to the ground as she rushed in. She wore a pair of fitted jeans, a maroon-colored blouse, and a white cardigan. Her hair, the color of dark honey, was full and brushed to a beautiful shine. She wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

“Oh, god, oh I am so sorry.” Rachel pushed through the EMTs and down to the bedside. “Cordelia, I am so sorry. I set out your Depakote last night before I left. I forgot to write you a note. Are you all right?” She looked over her shoulder at me. “Hey, Connor. What happened? Did you find her seizing?”

“Fired,” came a quiet and rough voice. Everyone snapped their heads to look at Cordelia making an effort to sit up. “You. Are fired.”

Rachel let out a soft huff. The EMTs averted their eyes. Mine were halfway through rolling.

Rachel stood and helped my mother sit upright. Cordelia mumbled, “Get them out. All of them. And clean me up.”

“Ma’am, would you like to—” Amy started to ask.

“Out. Rachel, get them out. Draw a bath.Now.”

She didn’t even notice I stood there.

Back in the hallway, I thanked the EMTs as we walked to the front door. “Don’t worry about Rachel,” I told them. “My mother fires her at least twice a week.”

I thought I heard the other EMT say, “Great employer.”

Amy hefted a bag over her shoulder and said, “You should probably call her oncologist for a follow-up. Don’t hesitate to call us again if she experiences another seizure. Try not to bring her to the hospital yourself if that’s the case, okay?”

I nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

I waved as the EMTs climbed into the ambulance and backed out of the driveway. Rachel’s car, a white BMW 3 Series, was parked on the street. Bennett remained standing with me at the doorstep and I savored the moment as much as I could. I tallied that one up, the fact that he didn’t speed down the front walkway with the ambulance. And since he stood with me…

“She’ll be fine, right?” I asked.

“Cordelia?” he said. “All things considered, that wasn’t too terrible. You might want to wait until Rachel gets you. Your mother seemed pretty embarrassed by the whole ordeal.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” I didn’t even think over my next words, just blurted them out, as if my heart took control of my mouth. “Would you like a cup of coffee? She’s got this fancy machine in the kitchen.”

I didn’t understand the stare that hit me. He held secrets behind that gaze with thoughts that I couldn’t decipher. Did he take a moment to weigh his options? Did he look at me like I had just invited him to fuck? Did he pity me? His face was set like dried concrete. A sculptor’s dream, really.

“I need to get back to work. I’m still on duty.”

“Right. Of course. Just thought…” I shook my head as my cheeks burned a betraying shade of red. “Thanks for your help today.”

“Just doing my job.”

Oof. That one hurt.

I didn’t watch him stroll down the walkway to his car. I didn’t say goodbye. I walked back into the house and closed the door, perhaps more forcefully than I should have.

Drop him from your mind, I told myself as I climbed the stairs to my room.You mean nothing to him anymore. Clearly.

I continued to berate myself mentally as I pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. A mote of shame multiplied deep in my belly. Pining after someone who dumped me—twelve damn years ago, no less—would only bring undue stress. I needed to focus on my mother’s health, not on an ex-boyfriend who apparently hated me.

Rachel found me in the kitchen while I cleaned up the mess from the shattered coffee mug. She knocked on the island to grab my attention. “Hey, Con. Good to see you.”

I stood and stepped forward to give her a tight embrace. I felt her relax into me and let out a little sigh before pulling back. She was only three years older than me, a senior in high school when I was a freshman. She befriended me because she was an avid writer and knew what my mother did for a living. A senior showing kindness to a freshman was quite the phenomenon back in those days. We stayed in touch when she went to college and even after, when I joined the army.

She pulled back but held me by the shoulders. “Well, you certainly filled out, didn’t you?” I laughed sheepishly. The last time we saw each other in person was eight years ago when I came home to visit. “Was that him?” she asked. “That was, wasn’t it. Bennett?”

I had shared my sordid story with her when I visited. My mother passed out early in her room while Rachel and I made margaritas and danced to reggaeton music in the kitchen. I shared my broken heart with her, going through the motions and revealing how my life shattered after Bennett. But I made a new life out in LA. Rachel had figured me out pretty quickly, even back in high school, but we never really talked about it. She did keep my secret the whole time, though. If only friends in Hollywood were as trustworthy.

I felt my cheeks go red. Of course, she would remember something inconsequential to her but worldly to me. “Um, yeah. That was him. Yeah.”