Page 9 of My Girl
“Yes, seriously. Why’s that so hard to believe?” Her attempt to look affronted fell flat when she couldn’t hold back her laughter.
As he watched her giggle at him, he realised how much he missed her bubbly personality, her enjoyment of life. How much he’d just missedher.
It hit him like a freight train. He had feelings for his best friend’s baby sister.
He had no idea what to do with that. He had no doubt Jarrod would have his balls if he so much as suspected anything. To be honest, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it himself. He’d watched her grow from an exuberant child into an animated teenager. It didn’t feel right to be lusting after the sexy, bubbly woman she’d become.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m impressed. Nice house.”
“Yeah, I like it. If you like the outside, you’re going to love the inside. Come on, I’ll show you.”
He followed her up the path to the front door, waited while she unlocked, and then followed her inside. As he stepped over the threshold, it led into a large, open-plan area flooded with the warm African sun that streamed through a myriad of windows. The room was bright and airy, furnished and decorated in bold colours that suited Sheridan completely.
He could easily imagine her in this space.
“So, I guess therapy doesn’t pay too badly then, huh?” Gabe joked.
“I guess not,” she replied, looking around the space with pride. “You’re through here.” Sheridan indicated to a short passage at the side of the living room.
He followed her into what he assumed was the guest suite. Once again, the room was light and airy, this time decorated more subtly.
She dropped his rucksack on the bed. “I’ll leave you to freshen up. The guest bathroom is through there.” She pointed to a door across the room. “You’re welcome to have a nap, and when you’re ready, you can come through.”
“Thanks, sugar bear. I appreciate it.”
She smiled up at him. “Anytime. You’re always welcome here.” Walking over to the door, she paused before she left the room. “I’m making spaghetti bolognaise for dinner.”
“Sounds good. I hope you’re making homemade garlic bread with it?”
Laughing, she replied, “But of course. What’s pasta without garlic bread?”
Sheridan left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Leaving him to his thoughts.
Sheridan
Curling her legs up under her, Sheridan took a seat in the corner of the sofa. Her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she listened to her brother.
“I’ve got to be honest with you, Jay. I don’t think it’s going to be nearly as easy to convince him to go as you think. But he definitely needs to talk to someone.”
“What makes you say that?” Jay asked.
“He’s been having nightmares, and he’s jumpy as hell with certain sounds. So, I’m going to hazard a guess and say it’s related to something that happened during the accident. Even if he doesn’t consciously remember, the subconscious is still triggered by a memory.”
“I can’t believe it’s been over four months since the accident.” Jay blew out a heavy sigh. “The rest of the band is already talking about getting back on the road. They’re saying it’s the best way to pay tribute to those lost. They get Gabe’s not physically fit to join them, but there’s talk of using a stand-in for him until he is. Has he said anything to you about the accident in the week he’s been there?”
“Nope, not a word. And I haven’t pushed. I wanted to see if he would come to me out of his own. But so far, zip.”
“Damn, Sheri. That’s not good. He’s not said a word to anyone about anything relating to it since it happened. The hospital psychologist I requested to assess him told me he needed therapy – that there was more going on than just that single event. Gabe said he would, but I knew he was just telling me what I wanted to hear, so I forced the issue, and he went to see someone. I have no idea what happened during the sessions, but it’s not helped.”
“Yeah, something is definitely bubbling beneath the surface – I can see it. I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t force him into therapy. It will have to come from him.” Her brother heaved another massive sigh, and Sheridan’s heart squeezed at how defeated he sounded. “I’m sorry, JJ,” she said, reverting to the childhood nickname. “I know this is difficult for you. Like I said, I’ll see what I can do. What I want to know now, though, is, how are you doing?”
For the third time in the short period they’d been talking, she heard the harsh exhalation of air of a soul-weary sigh. For a long time, there was silence. She checked her display to ensure they’d not been disconnected.
Just when she thought he wouldn’t answer, he finally spoke. “Crappy, if I’m being honest. It’s been a nightmare dealing with the fallout of the wreck. Cancelled concerts, pissed-off fans, traumatised band members, grieving family and loved ones — the list is endless. The scrapped dates and sulking fans don’t worry me. But I’m worried about everyone involved.”
“Yeah, and while you’re worrying about everyone else, I’ll bet you’re not taking care of yourself. How are you sleeping? Are you talking to anyone to deal with your stress and trauma, your loss?”
“I haven’t had the time. I will as soon as I’m able to.”
