“Is she okay?” My heart is pounding. I swear to god, if he says she’s been in an accident, I’ll pass right the fuck out.
“Yea, she’s...she’s here. Where are you?”
“About a minute away.”
“Good, just come straight back behind the counter when you get here.”
I hang up, not even bothering to say goodbye. I’ll see the man in less than thirty seconds.
I open the door and have to hold it while half the damn baseball team files out. Finally, I make my way inside and step behind the counter, just like Ian instructed. I’m guessing she’s back in that little closet/office thing, but Ian’s blocking the doorway.
“Dude, I have no beef with you. I’m grateful you called, but if you don’t get out of my way, I’m about two seconds away from picking you up and moving you.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t budge. “Chill, tough guy. Before you go barging in there, I thought I’d give you the rundown, seeing as Phoebe is in no shape to.”
“Yea, statements like that are not gonna help me chill.” I clench and unclench my hands, willing some of the tension away.
“Fair enough. How about this? It’s easier and faster if I fill you in.”
“Great. Fine. Tell me what you need to tell me so I can see my girlfriend.”
“Look, I wasn’t here when it happened. Our newest hire was, and it’s a good thing she recognized the signs of a panic attack and got Phoebe back here when she did. That’s when I arrived and saw what was going on. She’s ok now, but completely exhausted.”
“I need--”
“You need to listen,” he says, brooking no argument. Half of me is grateful she has such a fiercely loyal friend. The other half wants to knock him the fuck out of my way.
“She got a call from her mom. I guess the guy who’s responsible for Dylan’s death, um...Brett? I guess his parents are petitioning for early release. This, obviously, threw her mom into a tailspin, but it’s done a number on Phoebe, too. Just wanted you to know, so she doesn’t need to re-explain.” And with that, he steps out of the way. I hear myself thank him as I go to her. She looks small, sunken in that oversized desk chair, knees pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.
I stoop down next to her chair, and she all but falls into my arms. “Come home with me, baby.” She nods and Ian hands me her bags.
“Text me tonight?” he asks. “Just so I know she’s ok.”
“Yea, of course. And Mel, too.”
We both thank each other, which seems appropriate but also ridiculous, and I carry my girlfriend out of the coffee shop, not giving a shit that people are watching. Let them fucking gawk. This is what love looks like. When someone can’t get where they need to go, you make sure they get there, even if it means carrying them, metaphorically or literally. Hell, I know she’d drag my ass anywhere I need to be.
I don’t deserve her.
I never will.
But I’ll never stop wanting to.
I deposit her in the front seat of her car and she snaps the buckle in place. I fish through her bag for the keys, slide the seat way back, and drive over the hill to my place. I pull her car around back and into one of the garage bays. We never use them, unless a snowstorm is in the forecast. It’s just more convenient to have our cars right out front. But it feels right to pull her car inside the garage.
I’m not going to examine why.
I’m not letting myself examine anything except what she needs and how to get it for her.
I reach out for her, and she gives me her hand. We walk into the house. Booker’s the only one home, which is a gift. He’s got a sixth sense for knowing when to lie low and what energy to give off.
I walk Phoebe upstairs and into my room--our room, as I’ve begun to think of it. Pulling back the covers, I motion for her to crawl inside. She strips down to her mismatched underwear and bra and does just that, tucking the blankets tightly around her. I’m just about to go downstairs and grab some waters when there’s a knock at the door. I open it to find a tray with a water bottle and a cup of tea.
My best friends are the best friends. Seriously.
I set the tray on the nightstand and offer Phoebe the tea, which she accepts.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she tells me, her voice weary.
