"I'm so sorry, honey," Nan says, taking my hand, seeming not to need any explanation. Then she stands and pulls me to her. She's small, and thin, but there's still strength in her as she wraps her arms around my shoulders and hugs me tightly.
I melt into Nan's embrace, a flood of emotions washing over me. It's been so long since I've been held like this, with suchsoft care and warmth. The last time was... God, I can barely remember. My mother's arms around me, her familiar scent, her soft voice whispering that everything would be okay.
But it wasn't.
Tears sting my eyes as I let myself be vulnerable for the first time in years. Nan's hug is different from my mother's, but it carries the same unconditional love. I feel like a child again, seeking comfort in the arms of someone who truly cares.
Memories flash through my mind - foster mothers trying to offer comfort, their awkward pats on the back or hesitant hugs. But I couldn't accept it then. It felt like a betrayal to my mother's memory, as if allowing someone else to comfort me meant I was replacing her. So I'd stiffen, pull away, build walls around my heart.
Nan's simple hug blows through those walls with the force of a grenade. I bury my face in her shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. She doesn't say anything, just holds me tighter, her hand gently rubbing my back. It's a simple gesture, but it breaks something loose inside me.
"I miss her," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I miss her so much."
Nan nods, her cheek pressed against the top of my head. "I know, honey. I know."
We stand there, in the dim light of the living room, as years of pent-up grief pour out of me. Nan doesn't try to shush me or tell me it's okay. She just holds me, rocking ever so slightly.
I wipe my face, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief. Nan pats my cheek gently, her touch comforting, her face all warmth and softness. I didn't really expect to see anything different, but I was braced for it, just in case.
"Have some soup, then see if you can get Cady to eat some. It's chicken noodle," she says, gesturing towards the kitchen.
I nod, grateful for some direction. Anything to get rid of that lost, floaty feeling. The warm aroma of the soup fills my nostrils as I make my way to the stove. I ladle a generous portion into a bowl and practically inhale it, not realizing how hungry I am. "This is the best soup I've ever had in my entire life," I tell her, ladling another scoop into my bowl. She just smiles gently and shakes her head. I tell her that at every meal, because even though she might not believe it, it’s the truth.
Once I've finished, I pour some soup into a mug for Cadence then head to her room, my heart racing with worry. She's still asleep, her cheeks flushed and skin hot to the touch. I haven't had to take care of many sick people, but I do remember one thing my mom would do. I set the mug down on the nightstand and go to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth with cool water.
Returning to her bedside, I gently dab her forehead and cheeks with the damp cloth, brushing tendrils of hair to the side.
"People get sick all the time," I mutter under my breath, attempting to reason with my anxiety. "You didn't fall apart like this when your brothers were sick."
But even as I think it, I know it's different. My brothers are dramatic when they're ill, whining about every symptom and demanding constant attention. It's easy not to worry when they're driving me up the wall with their drama.
Cadence, though... she's the opposite. She pushes herself too hard, always putting others first. I worry she won't take care of herself, that she'll try to power through and make things worse.
I continue to bathe her face, watching for any sign of improvement. My mind races with worst-case scenarios, but I force myself to focus on the present. She needs me to be strong, to take care of her the way she takes care of everyone else.
"Come on, Cady," I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "You've got to get better. I can't lose you too."
I'm a melodramatic fuck. Sue me.
29
CADENCE
Iwake slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. My body feels hot, like I'm wrapped in a blanket straight from the dryer, but my head is clearer than before. As I shift, I butt up against something hard and unyielding. It takes more effort than it should to turn my head and look behind me, but man, am I glad I did. Maverick lies on top of the covers, his head twisted at an awkward angle that's sure to give him a crick in the neck. He's scowling in his sleep, hands fisted at his sides, the one closest to me with a blue cloth clutched between his fingers.
He stayed with me all night. Nan's the only one who's ever done that. Grandpa would check on me, yeah, but he'd stand in the door and ask "You still breathing?" in that booming voice of his. As soon as he got a thumbs up, he'd grunt and leave.
And I don't remember a single boyfriend doing more than bringing me some cold medicine. They didn't exactly throw it at me, then back away, but I got the feeling that was their first choice, and they only stopped themselves from doing it because it might get them kicked to the curb.
Gratitude, and affection, and some other feelings I'm not ready to examine too closely wash through me. All I want to do is touch him, so I do. I settle for a gentle brush of fingers along his forehead, letting my fingers dance over his eyebrows. Slowly, his scowl fades, and he seems to fall into a more peaceful sleep.
I'd be perfectly happy to stay here for the next few hours, stroking him, but my full bladder finally forces me to drop my hand. Carefully, I slide out of bed, trying not to disturb him. I do my business, then wash my hands. As I open the bathroom door, Maverick is suddenly there, arms outstretched as if to carry me. Maybe I yelp a bit.
"I'm okay," I insist, pressing my hands against his chest. "I can walk."
His brow furrows with concern, but he lets me pass. I make my way back to bed, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. As I settle in, he hovers, his face a mask of worry.
"How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Water? More blankets?"
