Page 32 of Renegade Rift
“No,” I agree softly. “I guess we’re not.” And given the revelations of the night, I can’t help but wonder what else is different about the man standing in front of me.
Silent minutes pass like hours before Ford finally cuts through the awkward tension. “I like the idea of a cart. I could easily roll it against the wall and keep it out of the way when I’m not planning sessions.”
“So, you’ll let me help then?”
He nods. “On the condition you let me pay you for your time.”
My hand finds my hip as I cock it to the side. “That sort of defeats the point of me doing something to pay you back.”
“A meal then. You organize and I’ll cook.”
“You can cook?”
“I didn’t say it would be a Michelin experience.” He looks down at my uniform and glances at the clock behind me. “Shit, it’s late.”
He sidesteps me and rounds the kitchen island. Opening the fridge, he looks over the door. “Are you hungry?”
“Thank you for offering, but I can’t eat?—”
“Wheat.” He finishes for me. “I know. Is it dairy, too, or just wheat?”
I gawk at Ford, slack-jawed. “How did you know?”
He straightens and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I looked up Hashimoto’s.”
My jaw drops further, and I’m fairly certain it must be broken by way of shock. “You did?” I hate the awe in my voice, but no one, not even my husband, has taken the time to look up the symptoms of my disease. Not that there have been many people who would care since my diagnosis. I don’t think even Paige has spent a single moment researching beyond what I’ve told her.
But Ford did.
He nods sheepishly, palm rubbing the back of his neck. “I sort of went down a rabbit hole after you said it was what caused all the swelling in your joints. I wasn’t sure what it meant and once I did, I didn’t want to upset you by asking if you were getting the thyroid meds you need because…”
His voice trails off, but I know what he was about to say.
Because he didn’t know if I could afford them.
“I—” Words fail me.
Ford looked up the symptoms of my disease. He knows about the meds I have to take. He understands I can’t have gluten and have to limit my dairy.
Ever since I got this diagnosis, I have struggled with the fact my body is actively turning against me. Tyler always told me if I just ate healthier and started exercising more, I’d go back to normal. He made me feel small and would still demand I cook gluten heavy meals for him before games despite the fact we wouldn’t be able to share them together.
All I wanted was to share a meal with my husband.
But I was the problem.
I spin on my heel, giving Ford my back to hide the tears that fill my eyes.
“Juliet, are you okay?” His tone shifts, the concern stifling.
“Yup.” I lie.
Just over here pretending like you didn’t make me feel seen for the first time since getting diagnosed.
I swipe away my tears, but don’t turn back, afraid seeing the worry in his eyes will be my undoing. “I should probably get home.”
“Let me get a car for you.”
“I’m good,” I say, shaking my head and moving toward the door.
