Ready For You (17 page)

“Ten in the morning.”

My shift at the hospital started at eight, but I’d figure something out.
 

“Give me your address. I’ll be over in the morning, and we’ll go together.”

“Okay.”
 

He quickly gave me his address, and it confirmed my suspicions. Garrett lived less than a mile away from me.
 

“Try to get some sleep, okay?” I said gently.
 

He acknowledged, and we started to say our good-byes.
 

“Mia?” he said at the last moment.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I didn’t know who else to call. I needed…I don’t know. I just needed you.”
 

I closed my eyes as I tried to steady my breath and erratic heartbeat. He was hurt and grieving.
 

Don’t take the things he says to heart, Mia. Just be the friend he needs you to be.
 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said before clicking End with a shaky hand.
 

~Garrett~

This wasn’t real.
 

At any minute, I was going to wake from this hell I’d been living in for the past few days, and everything would be back to normal. My family would be happy again, my mother would stop crying, and I wouldn’t feel like there was this gaping hole in my heart anymore.
 

But I still kept waking up to find myself in this same fucking nightmare.
 

My dad was dead.
 

He’d been taken by a massive stroke at the age of fifty-eight.
 

It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.
 

There was still too much for him to do, too much for him to see and experience. God needed to give him back.

“Goddamn it! Give him back!” I yelled, flinging the half-empty tequila bottle at my bedroom wall.
 

It exploded upon impact, shards of glass falling to the floor as amber liquid trickled down the bare white walls. The rising sun was just starting to cast its rays across the room as it ushered forth a new day—a reminder of something else my dad would miss. It was my first night back in my own bed since Logan had answered that phone call and all of our lives had changed.
 

We ran out of the house, hastily strapped the kids in the car, and rushed to the hospital. As we entered the ER, Logan disappeared, immediately switching into doctor mode to get more information. My father had been brought in unconscious but breathing, but my mother hadn’t known much else. Clare and I found her huddled in the corner of the waiting room, clutching her handkerchief with wrinkled white knuckles.
 

“Mom,” Clare called.
 

She looked up, and her eyes found us. They were red, and tears stained her cheeks. She jumped up and pulled us into her arms, and the sobs grew louder.
 

“We did everything we were supposed to do,” she cried, referring to his last stroke that had put him into early retirement. “Everything the doctors told us to do after the last stroke, we did. Why did this happen? I don’t understand. He was fine this morning. Then, he got a headache, and now…”

I didn’t know what to say, so I held her. For as long as she needed, I held her.
 

Logan came out about an hour after arriving at the hospital and explained the stroke was fatal, and it was just a matter of time. His brain was hemorrhaging, and there was nothing that could be done. They’d given him morphine for the pain and kept him unconscious, but the rest would happen with time.
 

We were allowed to go in and see him one by one—to say good-bye.
 

I didn’t want to say good-bye.
 

Less than twenty-four hours later, he was gone.

I still didn’t want to say good-bye now.
 

The tequila bottle, now a beautiful mess of shards on the floor, sparkled under the sunlight, and the leftover alcohol bled down the wall, like tears.
 

“What the hell am I going to drink now?” I asked myself out loud, looking around the messy bedroom for something else to numb the endless stream of thoughts running through my head.
 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” I heard someone answer back.
 

How much did I drink last night?

My head lolled to the side, and through the blur, I made out Mia standing in the doorway.

“How did you get in here?” I slurred.

“You left your door unlocked, genius.”

“Did that on purpose,” I said with more slurring.

She looked around and noticed the glass. She sighed and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a trash bag and made quick work of the mess. She obviously didn’t appreciate the brilliant spectacle the sun was doing with the tiny glass fragments as much as I did. She also wasn’t drunk, so there was that.
 

I silently watched her as she meticulously picked up each piece, vacuumed, and cleaned the wall. She vanished into the kitchen again and came back moments later with clean hands and an expectant expression.

“What?” I asked.

“Get up,” she said.

“Why?” My head slumped back on my pillow, and I made no move to get up from my position on the bed.
 

“You’re not showing up to your dad’s funeral looking like that!” she exclaimed.

I looked up at her, and she was trying hard to be nice, but I could see she was annoyed. She probably hadn’t expected this when she said she’d help me.
 

“I’m not going, so you can just go if you want,” I said before slumping back down on the sheets.
 

“You’re not going?”

“Nope.”

After a few minutes of silence, I figured she had gotten sick of my behavior, and she’d left to save herself one more second of having to be around me. But as I glanced up, I found her standing in the exact same spot with her arms folded over her chest in that familiar pose she liked to take with me.

“Get up, Garrett,” she commanded.
 

“No.”

She took several steps forward until she was standing at the edge of the bed, hovering over me. The citrusy smell of her lotion invaded my senses.
 

“Get the fuck up.”

At her bold words, my eyes darted to hers. She wasn’t messing around. She was stone-cold serious. Well, two could play at that game.

I sat up so that we were nose-to-nose. I could feel her breath against my neck, and heat radiated off her body.
 

“I’m. Not. Fucking. Going,” I punctuated each word as the anger seethed out of every pore on my body.
 

I was a ticking time bomb, and she was playing with fire.
 

Just when I thought she would match me and give me exactly what I needed—her screaming back and offering up a worthy opponent to channel my rage—she did the opposite.

She reached out, clutching my face gently, as she whispered, “What are you afraid of Garrett?”

“I’m not scared, damn it!” I yelled, pulling back from her tender touch.
 

“Then, what is this about? Because I know you wouldn’t willingly bail on your family when they need you.”

Her hand found mine, and I didn’t think she understood the effect her touch had on me. Every single brush of her hand and lingering touch or taste of her lips was like taking a walk back in time. I would remember the first time she’d let me hold her hand at school or the shy smile she had given me when I taught her to ride a bike in my driveway. My dad had laughed at me, saying I had the worst game he’d ever seen, but I’d gotten her anyway. I’d been so excited to tell him that we were getting married, but I’d never gotten the chance.
 

“I can’t go, Mia. I don’t know how to be strong today,” I said, feeling deflated. I gripped her hand like a lifeline.

“No one is asking you to be strong. Let me be the strong one today. Just hold my hand and find a way to say good-bye,” she answered.

“Okay,” I said in defeat.
 

She helped me find a suit and tie and politely stepped out of the room while I changed, but I quickly called her back in. My hands were so shaky that I couldn’t button my own shirt. She gave me a sad smile and helped me with the buttons as I tried not to bend down and smell her hair. She was wearing a classy form-fitting black dress and heels. Her normally straight hair was curled and pinned back.
 

“Can you help me with my tie, too?” I asked, handing the dark blue silk tie to her.

She nodded and reached up to loop it around my neck. Our eyes met and held briefly before she quickly looked down and began working on the knot.
 

“There you go,” she said, taking a step back to put space between us.

“Thank you. I guess it’s time.”
 

She nodded and took my hand as I tried to find a way to say good-bye to my father.
 

Chapter Fourteen

~Mia~

I was full of shit.
 

I’d told him I would be strong for him, but I honestly didn’t know if I could be.
 

When I’d seen him broken and defeated, curled up on that bed like the world was closing in around him, I hadn’t known what else to do. So, I had taken charge and fought for him when he didn’t have the strength to do so himself.

As we walked into that church on this hot summer day, with his fingers curled around my own, I seriously doubted my ability to be all that he needed me to be. But I would give everything to try. Immediately after entering the church, we were greeted by an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a name tag that said Betty with the church logo. She gave Garrett a sad smile, recognizing him at once. He looked so much like his father that it was hard to miss the resemblance.
 

“You must be Garrett,” she said, taking his free hand in greeting.

He nodded, and she offered her condolences to which he just stared at the floor and swallowed hard.
 

“We’ve set up a room over here,” she said, pointing to the right of the sanctuary, “where the family can wait until it’s time to enter.”

I saw her quickly glance at our joined hands, and I didn’t miss her eyes darting to Garrett’s ring finger.
 

“Your friend is free to take a seat in the sanctuary until the service begins,” she said politely.

“She stays with me. She is family today,” he insisted.
 

We turned away, leaving the woman stunned and speechless.
 

Judgmental old bat.
 

The church Garrett and Clare’s parents attended was large and modern with high ceilings and updated decor. Every church I’d ever been in always had a distinctive musty odor, but walking into this church felt more like walking into a performing arts building. It was huge.
 

We entered the room designated for the family and found them all gathered together tightly. Everyone was talking in hushed tones and passing around boxes of tissues. I suddenly felt out of place, like I was intruding on a private moment. Garrett must have sensed my hesitance because his hand tightened on mine, and I was suddenly reminded why I was there.

This day wasn’t about me or how I might feel. It was about the man standing next to me. He needed me, and no matter what was going on between us, I would be there for him. I owed him that much. Regardless, I wanted to do this for him. I would do anything for him.

All eyes turned to us as the door shut behind us.
 

“Garrett,” his mother said, rising from her seat to greet us. She pulled her son in a tight hug and stroked his hair, which I found endearing.
 

She turned toward me, and to my surprise, she also pulled me into a warm embrace. “So good to see you again, Mia. Welcome home. We’ve missed you.”

She remembers me?
 

Before I had much time to contemplate that thought, everyone else in the family greeted us. Everyone, even the children, hugged me. Clare’s daughter, Maddie, took to me immediately, asking who I was.

Most of us found seats while others made coffee or grabbed water.
 

Maddie sat down next to me and asked, “Did you know my Papa?”
 

My heart hurt that she’d lost her grandfather at such a young age. Grandparents were one of the best parts of being a kid. They loved unconditionally, spoiled their grandchildren rotten, and would let them eat sweets even if vegetables were skipped over. My grandparents made the early years of my childhood better. I never knew my mother’s parents. They had died before I was born, but my father’s parents were great. I always wondered what happened to my dad, having come from such an amazing set of parents.
 

“I did know your Papa. He was a wonderful man,” I said.

“He always had M&M’s in his coat pocket. Whenever I’d see him, he’d always share with me. They were always mushy from being in his pocket, but I liked them anyway.”

“Well, now, you always have something special to remind you of your Papa, huh?”

She thought about it for a minute and shook her head. “No, I don’t think I can eat them anymore. They’ll make me too sad.”

“Memories of our loved ones shouldn’t make us sad after they’re gone. Happy memories should make us happy. Why don’t you try to think of all the happy memories you had with your Papa every time you eat an M&M?”

She twirled her strawberry-blonde curls and contemplated my advice. Finally, she gave me a ghost of a smile. “Well, I do love M&M’s,” she said.
 

“And you love your Papa. It’s perfect.”

She cuddled with me for a few minutes and talked about her brother. He was currently running around the room, chasing Leah’s daughter, Lily. They were both oblivious to what was going on. Their laughter and cries of glee were misplaced but a welcome change to the mournful atmosphere of the room. Sometimes, being so young must be a blissful alternative.