Brazing (Forged in Fire #2) (23 page)

Or I hoped he did anyway.

I should probably talk to him before I assumed that.

I didn’t call him right away though. I wanted to think everything through and come to terms with my side of it.

I knew Bridger had trust issues. And who could blame him? But I started to see that maybe I had trouble trusting him too.

I had to trust that he would pick me because of me and not because of the sickness. I had to trust that if we were bad for each other that he would see that and walk away before we got any more serious. Or that if we got into rough patches, he would stay and see it out. Especially after marriage.

This little upset of ours was just a sneak peek at the tough times that plagued all relationships. There was no such thing as perfect compatibility.

I knew that. My mama had hammered that into my head long before I’d ever gone on my first date.  But it was different now that I was living it. That it was a real relationship and I could put all her wisdom into practice.

We weren’t going to do everything right. Hell, we’d probably do more wrong than we’d ever do right. But we had to stick to this. Stick to each other.

I had to stop worrying about him staying with me just because I was sick and start working to keep him with me long after I got healthy.

I loved this man. With all of me. With everything in me. And it was time to tell him that. And then show him that.

I didn’t want to lie anymore and I seriously didn’t want to pretend to have Celiacs any longer.

One frustrating illness was enough for me. At least let me eat gluten whenever I wanted. Yeesh!

I pulled my cell phone off the nightstand next to me and scrolled through my contacts. I hadn’t talked to Bridger since he left me in my room days ago.

I couldn’t wait to talk to him. I couldn’t wait to hear the low timber of his voice. I really couldn’t wait to see him.

I’d been deprived of him for way too long. I wanted to just stare at all his muscled frame with those sharp cheekbones and masculine lips. I wanted to stare into his forest green eyes and get lost there for hours.

But first, I needed to apologize.

I changed my mind at the last minute. I needed to enlist help with this. Especially because I didn’t want him to panic about my hospital stay or simply forgive me because I looked pathetic in a hospital gown and no makeup.

I pressed send for the one person I knew I could count on to help me with this. He would be the perfect person to bring Bridger to me.

And then I would fix this mess I made.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Bridger

“Where did you get them?” I needled West, who was less than forthcoming about my moving boxes. How he’d managed to get ten boxes that all smelled like drunken cantaloupes was beyond me. It was like he purposely did things to get a rise out of me.

“The store.” He shot me a smile that was nothing short of wicked.

“Where in the store?”

He shrugged. “By the dumpster.”

West got kicked dead in the shin for that one. Could nothing be simple with him?

“Take them outside. It’s making our room smell like we’re making Apple Jack.”

“You’re just pissed because Tate hasn’t called. Maybe some moonshine is just what you need, dicktater.”

The other shin. Twice. Just for saying that word again.

“Damn it, Bridger! I wish you’d just get some already. You’re so violent when you’re—tense.”

Dragging a suitcase from the closet, I quipped back. “I’m not tense. I’m—shit. I don’t know what I am.”

“I’m taking these boxes down to the dumpster. When I get back, you and I are going out.”

He didn’t wait for my answer, mostly because he knew what it was already and it didn’t go along with his plans. I didn’t want to go out or stay in. I didn’t want to study or work.

In fact, there was nothing I wanted to do more than sit there by my phone and wait for her to call.

Not that pathetic, right?

I shouldn’t have left her like that. I shouldn’t have left the decision making up to her. God knew she was the most stubborn person on the face of the Earth and if left to her own devices, she would cross her arms over her chest and flip the world off.

She’d never admit that she needed me or she wanted me.

Maybe there was nothing to admit. I’d bared my love and my soul to her, but not once had she opened up to me. Tate couldn’t even bring herself to tell me that she was sick. What made me think she could tell me anything else that pained or pleased her?

Nothing was right without the promise of seeing Tate again. Nothing. I’d made the move to text her over a dozen times, at least. Just like in the beginning when I couldn’t do anything on campus without seeing her, I couldn’t even go to class without hoping to run into her. She’d quit her job at the library. I’d asked the woman at the check-out counter about her and she said that she’d taken a leave of absence. But I didn’t know if she’d done that before or after me.

I saw her face in wake and in sleep.

Didn’t she understand that I wanted to be there? I wanted to hold her hand when they pricked her with needles. I wanted to gather her up next to me under hundreds of blankets to try and keep her warm. I’d keep her hair back as she threw up. I’d hold her while she trembled.

That’s what love was.

When she was sick, I was sick.

When she was cold, I was cold.

When she ached, I ached.

When she was done with life, I needed to be there to remind her that she was life.

She was
my
life.

There I went, acting like an idiot—again.

At least this time I didn’t feel like such a fool.

The truth of the matter was—I loved Tate and I’d promised to wait for her answer. I’d promised I’d wait for her to find me.

But I didn’t tell her I’d wait here.

Without Tate and I being together, there was nothing holding me in school. After waiting a week for her to tell me something—anything—the sliver of pride I had left told me it was time to give up—not on Tate—I would never give up on Tate or the hope I had that one day she’d decide I wasn’t scared off by her sickness.

I hadn’t gone to church that morning. I didn’t want to seem completely desperate or that I was pushing the issue. She obviously needed space and that was just what I was going to give her.

Every single move I made was getting doubly analyzed.

By me.

“Okay. I did away with the boxes. What are we packing first?” He swiped his hands together.

“Try to be a little less enthusiastic about me leaving—please.”

“What? I get this room all to myself for the rest of the semester. I’m stoked. Anyway, you’re probably going to get halfway home, start crying like the puss you are and then come blazing back.”

Stockton should do a DNA test on West. I knew my dad would never cheat on my mom, but damn, maybe he was switched at birth or something.

“Shut up. Just for that, I’m not packing anything until tomorrow.”

“Let’s go get some dinner then. Stock wants me to talk to you, anyway.”

“About what?”

“Come on.”

We grabbed our wallets and phones and headed for the local Philly cheesesteak place. The place was full of rowdy teens and freshman intent on gaining the freshman fifty. It was loud.

I swiped my hand down my face at my own thoughts.

Inside me, there was an old man growling and muttering ‘damned loud assed kids.’ I thought maybe I’d always been a little older than my physical age.

For instance, what eight-year-old thinks he’s in love with the awkward red-haired girl down the road?

Me.

We ordered after waiting in line for the longest time. West picked a semi-sticky table in the back away from the pool tables and ice hockey tables. He had some sense after all.

“So, Stock wanted me to talk to you about Holland.”

Stockton was like a mob leader. He could stay right there in his workshop, but his tentacles of knowledge and business minding were always poking around in my business—in all of our business. When our dad died, Stockton became the Godfather. Most of the time it was fine—comforting almost. We always had someone to rely on and if something happened to us, we knew we would be taken care of. I couldn’t count on my two hands the number of times he’d kept me out of trouble after our parents died.

I expected this all to be a bullshit ruse. Stockton would tell West to talk to me. He would say a sentence or two about it and then we would agree to let it go. That way he could tell Stock that we really did talk about it.

No such luck.

West was my best friend.

And my best friend was looking awfully serious.

“Look, I know I screw around a lot, but make this the one night of the year that I’m serious. Are you sure about this? Holland? That’s a long way away for a man who insists on going home for every single holiday.”

It was true. No matter how far I strayed from home, my sights were still set on that little piece of land under the black walnut trees.

“Don’t they say absence make the heart grow fonder?”

I laughed at the phrase. It seemed to be right for so many facets of my life.

“But what about school? It’s all you and Stock wanted when we were kids. I feel like we’re all turning key here. I never wanted to go to school, and now I’m finally buckling down. You and Stock dreamed of school and big business and both of you are now wanting to go back to the small life.”

The small life was the meaningful life. I hadn’t realized that when I was a kid, but I realized it now. Only in the silence of our land could the important things be heard.

“I’m sure, West. I haven’t wanted to go to school since last semester, but Stock made me promise to stick with it a little more just to make sure.”

He seemed satisfied with my answers. Crisis averted. When the waitress brought our food, he dug in with such a fury that I knew our serious conversation was over in a matter of minutes.

I knew what I wanted.

Now more than ever.

I wanted a career in silversmithing. I was damned good at it and it would let me travel if I let it. I wanted my log cabin in the woods where I could step outside on the porch and see the mountains in front of me and nothing but trees around me. I wanted to work with my brother in a shop built by our father during the day and go home to Tate at night.

All of my dreams were certain except for her.

Didn’t she know she was breaking me minute by minute with her silence?

Even if she refused to let me stick around that a negative answer couldn’t be more painful than this.

Not that I would allow it.

Tate hadn’t allowed me to deny her.

If I didn’t get an answer soon, I would just have to try harder.

She deserved someone who was willing to fight for her as much as she fights that cancer.

“And Tate?” He grumbled half chewing and half talking.

“What about Tate?”

“Have you changed your mind about her like you have about school?”

It was frowned upon to clock your brother in a restaurant, right?

“I’ll never change my mind about Tate. I fouled up when I was a kid. I should’ve waited for her. I should’ve trusted my heart instead of my—I won’t give up on her.”

“Finish eating.”

The only thing he had to say was to tell me to finish eating while he checked his phone every three seconds.

Prick.

We finished our food and West made a big display stacking our plates.

“You remember that time we were supposed to be helping Preacher with his crops and we ducked out early to go to the creek? You lost your brand new shoes Dad had bought you. Who covered for you?”

“You did.”

“And what did you tell me that day?”

He was not pulling an I.O.U. from fifteen years ago.

“I told you that I owed you one.”

Yes, he was.

“I’m calling it in. What I tell you next has to be done without question as a favor to me.”

There was just no telling what West would ask me to do. But I was a man of my word, so I shook my head yes.

He’d probably make me streak through town or wear a hot dog suit to church.

I, unfortunately, knew how his mind worked.

“Good.” He slammed his hands on the table. “We are going to see someone.”

I didn’t like the glint in his eye one single bit as we drove across town and finally parked in front of the hospital. That was the hospital where Tate had first lied to me.

“What are we doing here?”

“You are paying up. Come on.”

West led me up to the third floor, checking his phone for something the entire way. We rounded a corner and he stopped dead.

“You might want to take a minute here.” West had paled in the few minutes we’d been there and something deep down inside me wished that my instincts were wrong. “Tate is in room 347. She hasn’t been doing well with her treatments. She texted me when I was bringing the boxes down, but I wanted to talk to you first. I—um—I’m not much of a sap, but don’t let this slip through your fingers. Don’t keep score. That girl is something else and you deserve to be happy. But she needs you to be strong for her. She’s gonna need to borrow some of your strength to get through this. I have a feeling hers is running thin.”

One clap on the shoulder and he was gone.

Just like that.

I stood there for what seemed like an hour. That dumbass brother of mine was right. I loved her and someone had to protect her from herself and her own bullheadedness. And if anyone knew bullheadedness, it was me.

I stared down the hallway looking at the dreary colors. One woman sat outside her room in a wheelchair with no one to talk to, just holding a book. A scarf was wrapped around her head. I wondered where her family was—where her husband was.

That could’ve been Tate. She might be sitting alone in her hospital room reading all alone.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

I went down to room 347. The door was cracked open a little, but I didn’t hear anyone inside. I peeked around the door slowly, not wanting to catch sight of anything I shouldn’t see—anything she didn’t want me to see—yet.

What I saw next broke me. I was broken already, Tate having shred my heart into pieces. But the sight of her like this, completely broke me down to a whisper of a man.

I didn’t think it was possible for her cheeks to become anymore concave, but I was wrong. An IV protruded from on weak arm. She slept with both arms palms up by her side in a posture that looked like she was done and surrendering to it all.

I’d arrived right on time.

I’d be damned if she surrendered without a fight.

The room smelled stale and a little sour. People always smelled a little sour to me when they were sick. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it just was.

No beeping came from the heart monitor beside her—she’d probably made them turn it down.

Looking at her, so helpless like that, made me ache.

Long gone were her gorgeous flaming tresses and in their place was a scarf of all colors. 

Her hair was gone, but it did nothing to detract from her beauty—nothing.

A shiver rolled over her and I wondered why no one was taking care of it. Selfishly, I thought every nurse on staff should be at her beck and call.