Page 67 of All of You

He shut the door gently behind him, and we walked to the parking lot where we’d parked next to each other in the visitor parking area.

I stopped in front of my truck and surveyed him. He was lost in his own head. “You okay?”

He started nodding immediately, like that was the answer his mind had commanded him to give, but his mouth wouldn’t comply. “I don’t know, man.”

We’d promised to be honest with each other, and for him to say that much was truly saying something. He was one of the most positive, sunny-side up kind of people I’d ever met.

“I just got it in my head she was in trouble. I tried to talk to her when she got back from her trip at Christmas, and she blew me off, and then I couldn’t get ahold of her, and when you told me you hadn’t heard from her either, and Erin hadn’t seen her in weeks, I…”

“I know. And it wasn’t without some merit. It’s okay to be worried about a friend. But I wonder if you’re feeling?—”

The sharp shake of his head, the bitter frown on his lips, stopped me short.

“Nah. No. Let’s not go there. Not now.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and let them clink together into his palm. “I’ll see you at church?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

I climbed into my truck and strapped my seatbelt as he pulled away, then messaged Whit to let her know everything was fine. Thatcher barely braked as he left the lot, and a grim kind of smile settled on my face. This was all so messed up.

Whit suggested I come back over since we’d ended up finding Bec and resolving the issue (or more accurately, getting kicked out of her crappy apartment halfway between Fort Campbell and Nashville) more quickly than I could have hoped, and of course, I obliged.

The half hour drive back was full of questions about Thatcher and Bec, thoughts about Bec and whether she really was okay, and wondering what her life decisions were. She’d been stuck, paralyzed in the same job, the same apartment, since Dillon’s death. Erin had told me she’d asked Bec if she’d ever leave the area, and how she thought Bec was considering it. Would she finally leave, and would that signal an acceptance of her loss? I wanted that for her because I knew what it was to try and keep acceptance at bay.

When I reached Whit’s house, I felt bone weary in a way I hadn’t in a while. I’d managed to smile and feel good about leaving, had talked myself into being glad about Bec’s anger with us for banging on her door like we were FBI and she a hunted fugitive, but the farther away from it I got, the more drained I felt.

Whit swung open her giant door, a soft smile on her face, and I walked right into her open arms knowing there was truly no place I’d rather be.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Whit

Ben was clinging to me.

Clinging.

And it felt so good to be there for him, to be ready to take on any burden he wanted to share, to physically comfort him. To feed him.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, pulling away just enough to see his face, that smiling mouth looking uncharacteristically sad.

“Not really, but I should probably eat something, huh?” he said, gently stroking my back.

He released me, and we went to the kitchen where I got out the fixings for grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

“You having some too?” he asked, collapsing into the chair at the counter.

“Yes, I am.” My stomach rumbled in anticipation.

“Wow. Throwing it all away for me, huh?” A smile lingered in his voice.

I set up on the counter across from him, sliding butter over one side of each thick piece of bread then slicing sharp cheddar, and responded as I did. “I was actually planning on us having this tonight. This is sort of my last cheat meal until I’m done with awards season, and then I’ll take a breath.”

His lips pursed, and I shook my head at him.

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face?” he said, clearly surprised I’d noticed his disapproval.

“That face that says you think I shouldn’t worry so much about what I eat. I’m not starving myself, and though I admit to sometimes feeling deprived, I know the difference. My mom was—” I stopped, surprised I’d ever started talking about my mother.

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