Page 26 of Mine To Keep (Southern Wedding)

“He’s so scared of me.” JB laughs as soon as the door slams shut.

“Please.” I roll my eyes. “He could bench-press you with one hand.” I throw the cover off me. “Now, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Wow,” he says, putting his hand to his heart, “is that any way to talk to your loving cousin, who flew all this way to make sure you’re okay?”

He starts to walk into the room, and I hold up my hand. “If you think you’re sitting anywhere on this couch, I’m calling Grandma Olivia and telling her.” He stops mid-step. “Did you even shower, or did you come here straight from the barn?” I ask, and he smirks. “You lost the bet, didn’t you?”

He takes his hat off and scratches his head. “Charlie was supposed to come, but he bet me.” I hold up my hand to stop him from talking.

“I don’t even know why he would come either,” I huff. “I’m fine. I have the flu.”

“You tell that to your parents, then my parents, and when you are done, tell our grandparents also,” he grouses. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Go shower.” I point at the hallway. “And change your clothes.”

“Fine, but I’m choosing what we watch when I come out.” He turns around to grab the bag he must have left at the door before going into the shower.

I grab my soup and finish most of it, then look into the bag, seeing he got me ginger ale and Gatorade. I get up, going to the kitchen to get a glass, and by the time I sit back down, JB is out of the shower and heading over to the couch. I don’t know what he puts on because all I can think about is Caine and what he told me. I reach for my phone and pull up his name, typing out a message, wondering what he’s doing right now.

Me: Thank you for the soup today and for making sure I’m okay.

twelve

Caine

“Tomorrow can we go to the park?” Meadow asks me when she climbs into bed, using her feet to slide under the covers in the middle of her queen-sized bed. Her face looks like it has its color back from the past two days of being sick. My head is low-key throbbing after having a minor mental breakdown with Meadow about how she wanted to take a shower and not a bath. Then from the shirt she was wearing that she didn’t want to wear but then put on backward. Let’s just say I’m really fucking happy this week is finally over. I think also she is definitely on the mend and back to her old self.

“I think we can do that,” I tell her, walking over toward the reading corner in her room. “What book do you want?”

“The Little Mermaid,” she chooses as I grab the book and walk over to her bed, lying on top of the blankets. “I got gadgets and gizmos a plenty.” She sings the song and then looks up at me, and all I can do is smile at her. The love I have for her is indescribable, and I didn’t understand it until they placed her in my arms.

“Okay, here we go,” I start, opening the book and beginning to read it to her. By the end of the book, she is barely able to keep her eyes open. Getting off the bed, I kiss her cheek softly before grabbing her old sippy cup from the night before. Placing the book back where I took it from, I close the door a bit behind me.

I walk down the stairs with the sippy cup in my hand as I make my way to the kitchen. The minute I get to the bottom, I hear my phone beep from the kitchen counter, where I left it before I ushered Meadow upstairs after dinner.

I turn off the lights in my office and lower the bright ones in the family room before making my way over to the kitchen. Picking up my phone, I stare at the home screen. I have emails that have come in and two text messages, but the last one is the one that shocks me. I was not expecting to see her name. My hands get a little clammy when I see her message:

Grace (Office) PA: Thank you for the soup today and for making sure I’m okay.

Two things happen at the same time, my chest gets tight and then my hand grips the phone even harder. Why the fuck is she texting me when her boyfriend is right there with her? Boyfriend. Just the word makes my jaw twitch. I mean, I knew it was a possibility, but then to see it with my own eyes. It was just an eye-opener, more or less. I mean, did I need to go to her place to see if she was okay? No. Should I have sent a message to her instead of going there? Yes. Not my best moment, for sure. I look down at the message, wondering what she’s doing right now. I wonder if she ate some of the soup. I wonder if she got sick after I left. It’s none of your business, I remind myself.

Ignoring the pull to answer her, I put the phone back down on the counter. The minute I walk away from it to clean up the fiasco I made during dinner, all I can do is look back toward where the phone sits. “Don’t even think about it,” I tell myself as I pile all the dishes into the sink. As I rinse off the plates, my mind stupidly and unconsciously goes back to Grace. I am never, ever going to admit how much this actually happens. Whenever my head gets a minute to think, it’s always fucking Grace it thinks of. My stomach gets tight when I remember listening to her get sick from the hall, and all I could do was wait for her. In honesty, I did try to open the door, but it was locked, so all I could do was wait. Then watching her almost fall, not even going to lie, I was one second away from calling 9-1-1. Then when she lay down, all I could do was watch her, waiting for her to jump up and be sick again, but luckily, she was fine. I should have left. I should have done a lot of things, but leaving was at the top of that list. There is also a column for things I shouldn’t have done. I shouldn’t have bared my soul to her about Marylin. I shouldn’t have ordered her lunch and waited for her to eat it. I shouldn’t have wanted to lie down and hold her.

The phone rings from the counter when I put the last dish into the dishwasher. My hand stills midway as my heart picks up its pace, thinking maybe she’s calling me. I wipe my hands on the dishrag before grabbing my phone and seeing it’s Nash.

“Hello,” I answer, putting the phone to my ear before turning to start the dishwasher.

“Yo,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “I’ll be in town tomorrow. Can I come and hang with my niece so I can get best uncle credits?”

I laugh at him. “You’re her only uncle,” I remind him, “so you get that regardless of if you are cool or not.”

“I’ll be there by ten, and maybe tomorrow night we can go out on the town,” he says, his voice getting excited. “Get you laid so you can be in a better mood.”

“Not interested,” I say curtly, wiping down the counter.

“In sex or going out?” he asks, his voice going to a whisper.

“In going out,” I groan. “If you want, we can go to a bar and watch the hockey game.”

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