Page 33 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
But I’ve already opened Pandora’s Box—there’s no way Smitty will let this go now.
“Gray,” he warns.
“There’s this girl?—”
“Not Courtney?” A cautious question that scours its way down my back.
“Not Courtney,” I rasp.
“Fuck, yeah!” he booms, doing it so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
Hell.
I should have started with the fire.
“Don’t stop there, man. Tell me more. Who’s the girl and how can Uncle Smitty help?”
The glee in his voice…
Christ.
My temple throbs and I exhale, thinking this is both a terrible idea and also…the only one I’ve got. I know Smitty will help. I know he’ll do it without a second thought—albeit with a fuck ton of banter and shit-giving and nosiness…
But I’m thinking that Faye needs that.
Thinking she needs the special brand of family that only Smitty can bring.
So, I explain about the fire and earn a “Our own Gray Roberts a hero? I’m positively fluttering my lashes, sweetheart.”
See?
I grind my teeth together, bite back the retort that wants to slide free, and order, “Focus, Smitty. She’s got no one.”
“No one?”
Except me, I want to say. I don’t though. I keep that thought carefully tucked inside my head and instead remind him, “No clothes, no food. No place to stay.”
“Kailey and I have a guest room.”
“She’s staying with me,” I say before I can stop myself.
Lie.
I don’t want to stop myself.
Smitty laughs. “Seems like she’s got a place to stay. When will she be out of the hospital?”
“Should be in the morning. I want to try to get her set up before the game tomorrow.”
“Kailey and I will be on it. Text me when she’s been sprung from hospital jail and we’ll meet you over there with what she needs.”
“You know you could just leave it on my porch,” I mutter, knowing that’s wishful thinking.
Smitty just laughs again. “You also know that’s not going to happen, man.”
Unfortunately, I do.
“I’ll text you in the morning,” I mutter, lifting my phone again, preparing to hang up when I hear his voice again.
