Page 10 of Losing Forever
A door closes. His. He's in the backseat while I'm standing here like an idiot.
Until now, I've kept my emotions calm, collected. I barely show any and do my best not to feel. If I let the smallest amount in, I fear the rest will break the dam I built, drowning me with so much grief I may never find my way back to the surface.
That can’t happen. Not now. Not after how well I've done. I need to stay strong. Closed off. It's the only way to survive.
I pull my scarf from my bag, wrap it around my neck, and climb in the car. Another excuse tumbles from me without thought. “Sorry,” I tell Noah. “I needed to make sure I had this before we left.”
Touching the light material, I focus on the colors. Lavender and yellow. I go to my happy place: a field of lavender growing beside a sunflower patch, the two colors meeting like purple and yellow paint on a wall. In my mind, I’m there, walking among them, my fingers brushing the tips ever so softly. A fragrant breeze tickles my nose and the sun warms my skin. Bees fly around the flowering shrubs, buzzing like an electric current.
Heaven.
I’ve been to a few lavender farms in Washington, but the place I imagine is in southern France. Provence has magical fields of lavender and sunflowers with views to the Swiss Alps. I have a picture of them. It inspired me to choose purple and yellow as my focus colors. One day, I hope to visit France and walk among the fields in real life.
“Bray, are you okay?”
Noah's voice draws me from my thoughts.
“Hmm?” I murmur with a peaceful sigh and then realize we're still at the house. He hasn't even left the driveway.
“What's wrong?” I ask. “Did you forget something?”
Relief shows on his tan face. “No. I’m fine. I just wanted to make sure you were. You haven't had to use this in a while.” He tugs on my scarf.
Right. Noah knows what it's for and why I use it. I taught him the color therapy technique after his accident. He tried it a few times with a picture of his dad's boat. The blue of the ocean soothes him and the pure white of the boat reminds him of standing on the deck, fishing, and having a good time.
“I’m okay,” I assure him in a whisper. Stupid. It's not like Grayson can't hear me.
Noah studies me for a moment. His gaze shifts to Grayson in the backseat and his brows narrow.
“What?” Grayson asks, tone innocent.
Noah leans toward my ear. “If he bothers you, let me know.”
“I can hear you,” Grayson says.
“Good. Then you know not to bother her.” Noah pulls out of the long driveway, and, finally, we're off to work.
Traffic isn't bad until we reach downtown Clearwater. The office is in a small strip plaza not far from the courthouse.
“I see downtown hasn't changed much.” Grayson stretches his arms across the backseat as he stares out the window. “How many buildings make up a city? Three or four? I think that's all I've counted. Is that enough to earn the title city?”
“Since when do you take such an interest in cities?” Noah grins.
“Since now.”
I pinch my lips together to hide a smirk. These two.
Noah turns in to the small parking lot of our building.
“Is this it?” Grayson seems disappointed.
Was he expecting a skyscraper?
“Gee. Don't act so impressed,” Noah mocks.
I fight a laugh. Is this how they always are? If so, it’ll be good for Noah. His lighter mood is nice.
We've both been so tense, stressing over the right house and budget. A lot of bad luck has come our way, but until Grayson arrived, I hadn't realized how stressed and mundane we've been. Him being here could be a good thing for Noah, which will then be a good thing for me, too.
