Page 91 of Not on the Same Page

“Trina?”

I shake my head to clear it. I’m losing it if I think someone is calling my name from across the street. But then, it comes again—that deep voice normally so full of care and promise, now a bit frantic.

“Trina!”

Slowly, I lift my gaze from the ground in front of me and slide it across the street where Casey is waving, trying to get my attention.

“Stay there! Don’t move!” he shouts. And I’m powerless to do anything but comply.

He waits for a car to pass, then runs across the street. When he gets to me, he doesn’t hesitate to touch me. Cupping my face with his hands, he uselessly wipes the water away from under my eyes.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” I sob, overwhelmingly relieved. He’s here. He’s holding me. He’s studying every inch of my face as if he could figure out where it hurts and take the pain away, all while the rain soaks us to the bone.

“I went to see you,” he says. “You weren’t there. I must have just missed you.”

A tiny little bubble of hope rises in my chest. “You went to see me?”

“I talked to Imani. I was worried. What happened?” He’s still running his hands over me, cataloging every inch.

“My…” A hiccupping sob is ripped from me. I don’t want to talk about work. For once, I don’t give a fuck about work. “My mom,” I try again. “She called. She said she loved me in her voicemail, and I don’t…” Another sob. “I don’t think anyone has loved me since her, ever. And I just thought of you. I don’t know why. But I didn’t know where else to go, and I’m so sorry,” I repeat.

“Because I love you.” He says it as easily as if he were talking about a meal or a book he enjoyed. As if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if it requires no thought at all. “That’s why you thought to come here. Because I love you. Okay?”

His dark eyes search mine, his eyebrows pinched up in a question.

“I’m so sorry.” I’m not sure what are tears and what’s the water sluicing down my skin, but Casey wipes it all away just the same as he shakes his head.

“No apologies.” He folds my head into his chest, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and bringing his hand up to cup behind my head. “You can always come to me. I will always be here. Because I love you.”

I don’t know how long I cry into his chest, but he holds me there and lets me as the rain and tears wash away as much of the pain as they can. The rest, he cradles along with my body, holding it near as if it’s precious. And it feels so damn good to let him.

I love him, too, I realize, but I’m crying too hard to get the words out. I’m going to tell him as soon as I can. I’m going to say it and keep saying it and not be afraid of it anymore. Because what is there to be afraid of? This feeling is what I’ve been chasing for so long without even realizing it.

When my crying lessens, Casey runs his hand along my wet hair. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

I nod, but when I take a step, the pain from the cut on my foot shoots up my leg, and I cry out as I collapse into him.

“You’re hurt.” His deep voice rumbles with a warning.

I shiver as I nod again. “I stepped on glass.”

“Jesus, Trina,” Casey curses, and without another word, he scoops me up with one arm behind my back and one arm under my knees and carries me all the way up to his condo. I’m too tired to protest, and it feels too good to be held like this even if I wasn’t.

Casey is here. He’s going to take care of me. He’s going to make me feel better.

Without a care about the puddles we’re leaving on the floor, he gently sets me down on a chair. He walks to the hall closet and comes back with a pile of fluffy towels and a first aid kit. Kneeling on the ground in front of me, he undoes the laces of my shoes and places them to the side. Carefully, he picks up my injured foot and looks at it before taking some antiseptic and gauze out of the kit.

“This is going to sting, baby,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay,” I whisper back.

He nods, then presses a cotton swab with the solution to the cut. I can barely feel that, but I register every nerve ending as his gentle fingers slide over my foot, securing a bandage between my toes. His touch lights me up, brings me back to the world around us.

Tapping my leg, he motions for me to stand. Grateful that I don’t have to think about what comes next, I do. That’s what he always did for me, isn’t it? He made it so I didn’t have to think when I didn’t want to. I only had to do what I was told.

Undoing the button on my shorts, he slides the zipper down and pulls them off to sit in a wet puddle at my feet. He plants a kiss on my hip, but none of it is sensual. It’s loving, caring. He’s taking care of me, I realize, and the thought pulls another sob from my chest.

He lifts my feet one at a time to move my shorts to the pile with my shoes. Then he stands and lifts my blue T-shirt up and off my head. He presses a warm kiss to the chilled skin of my collarbone before wrapping me in a giant towel.