Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,59
I’m just the girl he’s been with forever, and not the mental case we both know I am.
I glance over him—he’s wearing faded jeans with a few rips in them, a tight-fitting t-shirt that bares his tattooed arms. His hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his neck, exposing his bright blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and infectious smile.
“Are you going with us?”
I nod, and drop my brush into a vase full of water. Wipe my hands dry on my apron and tug it over my head. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Scott is almost vibrating with impatience next to the truck, and he gives me a sick look when we approach. Unexpectedly, for both of us, I give him a quick hug. “Let’s go get your girl.”
He clings to me for a long minute and when he pulls back, it’s with a shaky sigh. He nods and I give him a small smile. Slide into the backseat of the truck while the boys climb in.
“You good, bro?” Rike asks, his voice low.
Scott shrugs. “Let’s just go.”
Lindsay still isn’t committed to coming home. She wants to go to her parents, and call off the engagement. But Jillian told her flat out that coming home wasn’t an option. A month. She made Lindsay promise to stay with us for one month, to give her time to get the family home ready for a wheelchair and locate a physical therapist for her. Lindsay bitched and threw a fit, but Jillian was implacable.
When she left the hospital, her daughter screaming behind her, she looked at me and Scott standing outside her door. “You have a month. If anyone can get her back, it’s you. Don’t waste it.” Then she kissed my cheek, hugged Scott and got the hell outta dodge. Leaving us with the furious, sullen girl.
She’s sitting in her wheelchair when we arrive. It’s actually hers, not a shitty loaner the hospital is sparing for her. It’s motorized, and she has a tablet and phone strapped to the side table. It’s even bright pink.
“You’re late,” she says shortly, glaring at Rike. I bite my lip to keep from snapping at her.
Lindsay has always fought with the people she loves, to keep them distracted or to distract herself. Whoever is the safest for her to fight with becomes her target.
I pause in the doorway.
How the hell do I know that? It’s not something that was written down in my journals. I shake my head and focus on the Lindsay.
She’s watching me, and I see hope flare there, and then it’s gone. “You came back,” she says flatly. I nod and she laughs. “How long are you going to stay this time?”
“Linds,” Rike says, his voice sharp.
“It’s fine,” I say, glancing at him. Calling him down. This isn’t about him. I didn’t just run from Rike. I ran from all of them, and I ran when she needed me. If I were in that chair, I’d be just as angry.
“I’m here,” I say, meeting her angry gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. How about you?”
She glares at me, but she doesn’t argue anymore when Scott pick up her bags and we leave the hospital together.
The ride home is tense and silent. Rike talks about a client he’s been working on. I’ve figured out, through a little bit of trial and error, that Rike specializes in large pieces. He’ll do anything, but he prefers large tattoos that are heavy on the intricate detail work. He did the mandala on his side that covers an ugly scar that he refuses to talk about.
And I know he sketched the art that Scott has on his back.
The talk of tattoos doesn’t do anything to draw Lindsay out of her shell, and we get home in near silence.
The wraparound porch has been added to. A long, wide ramp curves around it, and the patio table has been cleared. Her eyes go wide and she darts a look at Scott before she blinks, going blank. I say, softly, “He’s been working hard to make this a place for you.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not what he should be working on. He should be on tour by now.”
I laugh, and push out of the truck. “He won’t go anywhere while you need him.”
***
After three days of the four of us in the house, we’re beginning to find a rhythm. Rike spends his mornings sketching, and his afternoons with me or Scott. Evenings are for the tattoo shop, before he comes home, tired