Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“You can’t just walk back into town and make demands. Not of me, and not of her. Not of any of us. You lost that right when you walked away from all of us.”
“I wouldn’t, and I’m not, but I’ve fucked up. I made assumptions and mistakes, and I won’t make them twice. So watch how you speak to her.”
“She’s my friend.”
“She’s my universe.”
Everything around me stills. The worry about the anger of one of my closest friends, who also used to be one of Copeland’s best friends, fizzles away, because there is conviction in his voice. Even after all the time that’s passed, he wants me. I feel that deep in my soul. He said I was his universe, and my heart believes him.
Bowen gives him a stiff nod and walks off toward the register.
“Well, that was fun,” Dixon says, tossing a few bills for a tip onto the table.
“He’s just worried about you, Ellison,” Macklin explains. “It was hard watching you after he left.” He, too, tosses some cash for a tip onto the table.
“I know, and I know you all have your own feelings about how he left, and he was your friend, too, but this is between Copeland and me. It’s our life, our choices. You’re our friends. You don’t have to like our decisions, but you do have to respect them. I appreciate how the three of you, along with Kinzie and my sisters, helped me pick up the pieces, but my heart was never really put back together.” I glance over at Copeland. “Maybe now it will be.”
“Understood,” they both say.
“Enjoy the rest of your night. Cope, call us. The four of us need to get together,” Dixon says, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” Copeland agrees as they both walk away.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning as much as I can in the booth to look at him. “They were there for me after you left. We all got close.”
“That explains finding you with them, laughing.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Did you ever—?”
“No. The four of us have only ever been friends.”
Copeland exhales. “Okay, good. Good.” He nods, and his shoulders relax. “Do you want to stay or go?”
I don’t even have to think about my answer. “I want to stay,” I tell him as the waitress comes over and starts clearing plates and wiping down the booth. When she tells us she’ll be back with menus, Copeland starts to slide out of the booth. “I’ll move to the other side,” he says, pain lacing his voice, but I hold tight to his hand, stopping him. “Stay.”
He nods, kisses my temple, and stays. We order our food and spend the next hour talking about old times.
During it all, he never once lets go of my hand.
Sixteen
Copeland
* * *
“Can I get you anything?” I ask Mom. She’s sitting on the back patio with a blanket over her lap. Even with the bright rays from the sun, she can’t seem to get warm enough. She has chemo again on Tuesday, and I hate what that drug does to her. I know it’s saving her, but it’s also making her sick. I wasn’t sure about having everyone over today, but she was insistent that she wanted to enjoy the day and have her boys, their friends, and her friends here, as well, so here we are—one big Memorial Day party.
“I’m fine. Stop fussing.” She smiles. “Isn’t Ellie here? Go bother her.” She waves her hands as if to get me to go away.
I laugh. “She’s here with her sisters, somewhere.” Somewhere in the back of the yard with her sisters and my sister-in-law, Macie. I always know where she is; it’s not something I can control. I’m just always seeking her out. Craving my eyes on her.
“You should go find her.”
“I wanted to check on you.”
“And I’m right here. I’ll let you know if I need something. Or your brother. He’s checked on me as much as you have, and the party just started,” she says, a smile in her voice.
“You have your phone. Call me if you don’t see me.” She’s been weak, getting tired easily, and I don’t want her stumbling around the yard for something that Chandler or I can take care of for her. I’m hovering, but I don’t care. This is my mom, the woman who raised us all on her own after Dad died. She’s been my rock my entire life, and I want to return the favor by being hers now.
“Mary, you have to try this,” Wanda says, stepping up next to us and offering Mom a red Solo cup.
I raise my eyebrow in question, and Wanda scoffs. “It’s punch. I didn’t spike it. Not yet.” She laughs, and my mom joins her. “Go, we’ve got girl talk.”
“All right, but I’m watching you.” I point at Wanda, then at my mom. “You two troublemakers be good.”