Page 75 of Really Truly Yours
My fingers ache in their clench. “Now who’s insulting?”
She stares at a spot behind me, her throat bobbing.
I let the impulsive and nasty retort die on my tongue. I am not a bully.
But I don’t let go with my eyes. “What would I be angling for, Syd?” If a body wants to fling an accusation like that, they should do it straight-out.
Her eyes do battle with mine, but her quivery lower lip, caught between her teeth, becomes a casualty of the war. I feel a punch in the gut. Why would she go there, Gray?
My stomach gurgles, queasy all of a sudden, like breakfast isn’t settling in for the ride. But it’s more than that. I flex my fingers out and give us both more breathing room.
Another drop plunks into the bucket, breaking me out of the stalemate in my head, reminding me what started my mind down this trail I wander with reluctance. “Sydnee…”
“Don’t act like I can’t take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for twenty-six years!” Her chin wobbles, weighting the proclamation greater than its face value.
“Call it thanks for helping Donny.”
“Call it whatever you want, but that isn’t what it is. You think I need a white knight or something? To buy me food, to fix my house? To drag me to meet people looking like this!”
Whoa, lost me there. “What’s wrong with the way you look?”
Her eyes roll to the punctured ceiling. “I slept in a chair last night, Grayson. Look at this mess.” She swats at some silky strands around her face. Motions to her spotted shirt. Kicks out a leg, pinching the frayed gap around her knee. “And this.”
“Ripped jeans are in style.”
Teeth gritted, she reenters my space. “Mine didn’t come this way.”
My teeth clank, holding a beat. “It doesn’t matter, you know.”
“Says you.” Huffing, she looks away.
I follow her gaze, even though she’s not really looking at anything. The drapes are pulled, so the room is dim. There’s a tattered yet comfy-looking chair in the corner with a rickety floor lamp arched over it. A neat pile of books, these with shiny plastic covers like they’re from a library, are stacked beside it. There’s a laptop on the chair, and in the corner behind it all—wait, what?
“Okay, we’re done here.”
I splay my hands. “No. Real talk, Sydnee. I apologize for dragging you around this morning, I do. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. And trust me, Avery already set me straight about the groceries.”
Is that steam puffing out her ears? “You spoke with Avery about that?”
“Well, yeah, I—”
“Thanks, Grayson. Thanks so much.”
“I was telling her about the day and stuff. It wasn’t a big deal.”
She shakes her head like someone who has given up reasoning with stupid.
So maybe I am a moron, but blast it, this hole is not something she can let slide. “Sydnee, please listen. At least let the guys come over and throw a few shingles over the bad spot on the roof.”
“No.”
“They’ll have leftovers. There’s always extra.” I take her hand—in part so she won’t slap me. She’s got that itch in her eyes. “The damage is only going to get worse. You know that.”
She yanks loose like I’ve got cooties.
Plop, plop.
Her bluster wanes, dropping along with her caving shoulders. I exercise all my self-control to not move in and shore them up.