Page 64 of Counting On You

“It’s no big deal, Vicky. I see that you miss him and that you really need to hear from him. What am I supposed to do? Stop you from having feelings? Leave you in pain?” He circles the chair and places his hands on my shoulders. Even though my back’s turned to him and I can’t read his features, I can feel his soft expression. Strange as it may sound, he understands me.

“Look, I don’t know if this asshole deserves you,” Kade continues. “I don’t know if this whole rehab thing works. All I know is that I hear you crying at night. You’re shedding tears over a guy who’s probably not worth it, and it’s none of my business. But seeing you hiding in that smelly old library day in, day out, reading old marine books, wasting your life, that is my business. As your friend, I’ve made it my priority to look after you. So, here you are.”

I let out a laugh. “You’re right. The library’s a bit stuffy, and the book collection sucks. It’s either historical, non-fiction or books about sailing and marine life. Don’t even get me started on the addiction stuff. There’s no romance; nothing exciting to read. Given the lack of choice, the marine stuff is almost bearable.”

His fingers brush the nape of my neck, massaging gently. The last few months’ pressure begins to lift almost instantly.

“What will you do when you’ve finished them all?”

“I don’t know. Read your first draft, I guess.” I close my eyes and lean into his hands, swallowing down the moan in my throat. His fingers are pure magic, which doesn’t come as a surprise considering the rest of him is just as good. “I’m sorry, Kade. I’m doing a terrible job of looking after you.”

“I’m doing good.” He stops his massage abruptly and pulls back. I should feel relief, but instead I find myself pouting with disappointment. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it. Do whatever you need to do. You have—” he looks at his watch, “—three hours left.”

That’s a lot of time to catch up on Bruce.

I watch him heading for the door, a part of me not wanting him to leave. “Kade?” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know how to thank you. Right now, you might be the only friend I have. Not even my family understands me.”

I expect him to make fun of me, crack a joke, anything I’ve come to expect from him. But he doesn’t.

From the door, he looks at me for a long time before he says, “I do care about you. That’s all.”

I want to say something, but I can’t say what I’m thinking—that I like him, too, even though I shouldn’t.

Instead, I keep quiet as I watch him leave.

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