I was down the hall from her. I’d given her an hour before I’d gone to knock on her door.
“Mia said that you were there when the press descended on Josie.”
“I was.”
“Why didn’t you do anything to stop them?”
“I did.” And thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt. I kept that last part to myself. I might be a grown man, but I still had better sense than to sass my mom, even if she was being overbearing. “But Josie wanted to speak to them. She doesn’t need my protection.”
As much as it pained me to admit that, it was true. My primitive instinct to protect her from danger was outdated and unnecessary. Josie was perfectly capable of handling herself.
“Good for her. I’m so glad she finally decided to stick up for herself. I forget that not all children come by the ability to do that naturally. All of you kids either inherited that particular gene or you adapted real quick. With nine of you, sticking up for yourself was just basic survival.”
I’d never thought of it that way. I’d always envied only children. No hand-me-downs, no sharing rooms, no toys being broken by your younger siblings. But the tradeoff for all those annoyances was never being lonely, always having someone to play with, and developing interpersonal skills that came in handy in adulthood.
“You let Josie know I’m here if she needs anything. If she wants to talk about it or not talk about it.”
That was something that my mom had always said to us kids. Whenever we were upset or she sensed that something was on our minds, she’d say, “I’m here if you want to talk about it, or not talk about it.” There were a lot of times that not talking about things with my mom was exactly what I’d needed.
“I will, Mama. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
I hung up the phone and was putting it back in my pocket when Josie’s door opened. My breath left my lungs like they’d been vacuum-sealed. She looked like an angel. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair was twisted up in a bun on top of her head. She had on a white robe with the Mountain Ridge logo on it, and the only thing I could think about was what she was wearing beneath it. Or should I say, not wearing.
“Hey.” She smiled, tugging the robe tighter. “I thought I heard you out here.”
“I was coming to see you, but my mom called.” I lifted the phone as if it were proof that my mom had actually called.
Her brows knitted in concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, she was checking on you, actually.”
“On me?” She touched her hand to her chest.
“Mia told her about what happened with the reporters, and she wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“She did?” Her lip trembled and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“Yep. She said she’s proud of you, and to let you know that she’s there if you need anything. If you want to talk about it, or not talk about it.”
Josie sniffed and I could see that she was getting emotional at my mom’s offer. It broke my heart that it seemed to surprise her so much when people cared about her. I wanted to pull her into my arms and show her just how much I cared about her, but since I was standing in the hall, it didn’t seem appropriate.
“Can I come in?”
“Oh, yes!” She shook her head as she stepped back as if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
“How are you doing?” I asked as I walked in.
“I’m good.” She shut the door and turned toward me. “Or I’m in denial. I’m not sure.”
“Hey whatever works.” I put my hands in my pockets because I didn’t trust myself not to reach out and touch her. She was just so fucking beautiful.
I continued, “I know I told you before, but you were amazing. You handled yourself with grace and class. Every time the reporters tried to bait you, you pivoted the conversation back to your narrative. It was…really impressive.”
And hot. Seeing her not only hold her own, but dominate the press was ridiculously attractive.
She’d pointed out that she was eighteen when she’d been violated in a very public and traumatic way because she trusted someone she shouldn’t have.
She asked the reporters how they would feel if it had been their sister or mother in her situation.
She asked them if they would want one of their loved ones’ past