“My hair. It’s wet,” she sounded so defeated, so melancholy. I pulled the towel from her head slowly and ran my fingers through it. I laid the towel across her pillows and then pulled her big blanket back.
“It’ll be okay. Here, just lay on this,” I said, easing her back and tucking her under the covers. I pulled my jeans off, and left my boxers and T-shirt on as I slid in next to her and pulled her close. I stroked her face until her eyes finally grew heavy, and I heard the faint hum of her breathing. Tonight was hard. Thinking about it all seemed almost too heavy, and thinking about Nolan working through this alone made me sick to my stomach.
But as hard as tonight was, it was also important. It had to happen, and I couldn’t find a way to do it on my own. Kira might have just saved us. I know she saved Nolan. There was only healing from here; I’d make sure of that.
Chapter 16
Nolan
“How do you feel about your midterms?” Dr. Ashford asked in her typical soothing voice. It wasn’t her fault she was such a stereotype. I suppose her demeanor was just part of the job description. I liked her, actually. Quite a bit. And I think in many ways she was responsible for my academic turnaround this semester. Reed made me promise to talk to someone, even as much as offering to sit with me while I talked to my mom about my miscarriage. But I couldn’t bring this to her. Not because I didn’t think she could help; I was sure she could. But it would also devastate her. And I wasn’t sure I could survive the look on her face, knowing I’d lost a child, her grandchild. I didn’t have enough strength left inside to handle that.
“Nolan?” Dr. Ashford asked.
“Hmmmm? Oh, sorry. I was sort of off somewhere,” I sat up straight and rolled my shoulders back to attention to listen now. “Midterms. Yes…uh…I feel good. Really good, actually.”
“That’s good to hear,” she nodded, folding her notebook in her lap and clicking her pen closed. “You’re heading home for spring break, for the wedding this week, right?”
“Yeah. I get to be a bridesmaid. It’s my first wedding. At least, first that I can remember,” I smiled faintly, looking down to my locked fingers in my lap.
“And Reed…he gets drafted this week, right?” she asked, as if Reed’s draft hadn’t been the center of every conversation we’d had for the last month. I just nodded softly in return, holding my breath for a few seconds before letting it out heavily, with a shrug. “What have we learned, Nolan?”
I sighed again. I know she meant well, but sometimes therapy felt a lot like nagging. “That I don’t need to waste my positive energy worrying about what ifs,” I said, internalizing my worry and masking it from her, afraid I’d be caught in my little act.
She just reached forward before she stood and patted my folded hands. “I know you still worry. It’s human, and it would be weird if you didn’t. But…you need to try to rationalize with yourself before you let it take over everything. When you recognize your anxiety, remind yourself that nothing has happened to cause it,” she said, smiling and standing to her feet in her tall black pumps, towering over me by a good six inches.
I stood and shook her hand, grabbing my bag from the floor and slinging it sideways across my body. I was reaching for her door when she gave me one more piece of advice.
“Oh, and Nolan?” she said. “Try to have a good time. You’ve earned it.”
I nodded and left, wondering if I deserved the good times she says I earned.
Buck and Rosie’s wedding was going to be late Sunday night out at Winter’s Barn. Rosie had made the food herself, prepped it, and hired a few servers to set it up on the wedding day. Everything was country-themed, with a local honky-tonk band and fiddlers for the ceremony, and open fire pits for marshmallow roasting. Sarah, Sienna and I spent the afternoon stringing lights across the barn, and throughout the porch and outdoor dancing area. I couldn’t wait to see it at night.
Buck and Reed were in Tucson for several interviews after Friday’s draft selection. Reed didn’t win the Heisman. But he was selected fourth overall by San Diego, just like Dylan had predicted months ago. I had grown to respect Dylan, though she would never be someone I’d feel comfortable calling a friend. She was smart, and a real advocate for Reed. Her father, however, was unbelievable. I was in awe watching him at Buck’s house the days before the draft, fielding call after call, and hanging up on offers he didn’t think were worthy of even listening to, only to get call-backs immediately with better terms. A lot of the selection came down to the team’s needs and how the players fell in the order. But there still was negotiating to do, especially off the books—about understood resigning agreements, certain playing time guarantees and performance bonuses. It was all kind of shady, but part of the business, I supposed.