“Thanks, Rosie. And thank you, Hayes. You’re a good friend,” Wolfie says.
“Wolfie says thank you,” I repeat to my grandma, and she nods and reaches over to pat my knee. But inside, I feel hollow and numb.
Wolfie shouldn’t be thanking me; he should be beating the ever-loving shit out of me. But instead, I get to keep running around playing knight in shining armor. And this time, I’m taking my grandma with me. Yay. Nothing awkward about that.
We take our pizza to go and head to Maren’s. Rosie waits in the car while I walk up to the door. My heart pounds with every step closer I take. I knock, but no one answers. I knock again. Still nothing. When I get back in the car, Rosie gives me a confused look.
“No answer?” she asks.
I grip the steering wheel and watch my fingers go white. “I know where she is.”
I take us east. Maren’s always had the same place she goes when things get hard. The same place she’s retreated to when some asshole hurt her, when she needs somewhere to be alone. I never would have thought that I’d be the one to send her there.
We pass a sign that reads MONTROSE BEACH, and I park and tell Rosie to wait in the car.
She places her soft, warm hand over mine and gives me a small smile. “Go get your girl.”
I smile back at her weakly. If only she knew what those words really meant.
A cool breeze greets me as I make my way to the beach. Waves crash gently in the distance, and it doesn’t take long until I spot Maren huddled into a tiny little ball a few yards away on the sand.
When I get closer, she hears me coming and shoots a curious look over one shoulder. Her eyes are swollen from crying, and she gives me a blank look as I approach.
Ouch. I deserve that.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she says, curling her arms tighter around her knees and facing the waves again.
“Wolfie’s worried. He asked me to check on you.”
She scoffs. “That’s why you’re here? Fuck off, Hayes. We have nothing to talk about. Call my brother and tell him I’m fine.”
She rises and begins brushing sand off her pants, ready to walk away, when we both hear the sound of another set of footsteps approaching from behind me.
“Is my grandson the reason you’re upset?” It’s Rosie, wrapped in her cream-colored knit cardigan, the breeze lifting her thin gray hair.
Maren looks at me in surprise, then to Rosie. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t know you were here.”
Rosie clucks her tongue and slides her arm around Maren’s shoulders. “Get in the car, little one. We can sort this out without everyone catching a cold.”
“She’s right,” I say. “I think it’s starting to rain.” The breeze has picked up, and I’ve definitely felt a few drops fall.
Maren glances between us, and Rosie gives her a reassuring look.
“I’ve got some cookie dough ready to be baked in the fridge, and I’ll brew us all a hot pot of tea the second we walk in that door.”
Maren nods and lets Rosie guide her to the car.
The whole drive home, I can’t help but feel uneasy. What am I supposed to say to Maren? And how did Rosie see right through me?
I can’t keep my gaze from drifting to the rearview mirror to steal a glance at Maren in the back seat, but she just stares straight out the window, looking anywhere but directly at me, it seems.
When we get back to my place, Rosie makes good on her promise. Within ten minutes, the three of us are sitting in my kitchen, the smell of cookies wafting through the air.
Rosie pours us each a mug of tea, quickly followed by a healthy pour of whiskey. “Can’t hurt,” she says with a wink.
Maren smiles and thanks her, but I can’t help but notice that her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
I down my mug in one gulp. The heat and the whiskey burn down my throat. It’s exactly what I need. Inside me is all kinds of turmoil. Half of me wants to fix things between Maren and me, and the other half vows to remain strong.
Rosie pulls the cookies from the oven. As she arranges them on a plate, she instructs me to get Maren something dry to wear. I go to my closet and grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and Maren takes them into the bathroom to change.
Rosie pours me another mugful of tea, and I add in more whiskey this time. She arches a thin, wispy brow at me, but says nothing. My stomach hasn’t stopped churning all night, and I’m hoping a little more booze will help drown out some of the noise.
Maren returns, and my heart drops out of my chest. It’s not fair. She can’t look this beautiful in my T-shirt and sweats. Especially not after I just told her we can’t be together anymore.
“It’s getting late,” Rosie says, glancing between us, “or at least, it’s late for me. I’ll leave you young folks alone. Good night, you two. Don’t eat all the cookies.” She kisses my forehead and pats Maren on the shoulder before slipping into her room and closing the door.
Silence falls between us. The whiskey’s made me a little tipsy, and I can tell Maren is too. Her cheeks are flushed, and when she looks at me, her lids are heavy over her hazel eyes.
“Please, dove, can we talk? I have a lot I need to say to you.” My voice is even, but on the inside, I’m wavering. It hurts my heart to see her like this.
“Okay,” she says in a small voice, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m listening.”
I touch her shoulder to guide her to the couch. It’s an innocent gesture, but the second
