Ten minutes.
Even with Brett next to me—where I can feel his presence, his warmth, his support—I don’t know if I can do this. Especially because I never had a chance to talk to him privately. We haven’t had a moment alone, what with Meryl here, and then the rest of them, and now the sweat is beginning to trickle down my back at the prospect of him touting words like “hero” and “incredible” and “I owe her everything,” and of the look on his face when he hears the entire story.
“Hey.” He gently nudges me with his elbow. “You need a quick breather before we start?”
“Yes.” It comes out in an exhaled sigh. “But am I allowed to move?”
He chuckles. “You can do whatever you want.”
“Okay. Actually . . .” I hesitate, swallowing against my growing fear. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Somewhere that’s not right here?” I hope I can be a little more articulate in the actual interview. Thank God it’s not going to be aired live.
A curious frown wrinkles his forehead. “Of course.”
We weave around all the equipment and people, Brett struggling to edge by. There aren’t many options for privacy around here. Outside is off-limits and I’m not about to lead him into the bathroom for a deep conversation, so it’s basically either Brenna’s bedroom or mine.
The second we step into mine and he shuts the door, I know I chose the wrong one for my current level of anxiety. I’ve never had a man—besides Keith, when he was hanging a corner shelf on the wall or helping with Brenna—in my bedroom. And to have Brett here . . .
His eyes flitter around the cramped rectangular space, dimly lit by my bedside lamp, to land on the picture of Brenna that sits on my dresser beside my freshly washed and folded and very unsexy white cotton panties and bras. I see his eyes skim over them momentarily before reaching for the picture frame.
He studies her face. “She has your jawline. And your mouth. And the shape of your eyes. She’s pretty much your mini-me.”
“Not quite but . . . almost.”
“She’s beautiful.” He sets the frame down. “You’re really worried about how all this will impact her, aren’t you?”
“It’s stirred up stuff I don’t want her hearing about yet. The sooner this is all over, the better.”
“Right. I hope so. Do you mind if I sit?” He’s already heading for my bed, that same pained expression on his face that’s there every time he moves.
“Your leg’s really hurting you, isn’t it?”
“Nah. It’s getting better.”
“Liar,” I whisper, edging over to take a seat next to him. It’s probably better that I don’t face him straight on for this.
“You’re really nervous, aren’t you?”
“Nah,” I mimic.
“Liar.” He smiles. “It’s going to be fine, trust me. Kate’s one of the good ones, and Simone made sure she knows what’s off-limits. Don’t worry. She told me herself, she wants you walking away from this looking like the hero that you are.”
There he goes, using that word again. “See, that’s the thing.” I catch myself picking at my fingernail, so I clench my fists to stop. “The other day, when I told you what happened that night? I kind of left something out of the story. Something important.” My chest feels two sizes too small for my lungs to work properly. Brett says nothing, waiting for me. “When I first got there, your head was hanging forward and there was all this blood,” I close my eyes and the image appears. “I put my hand on your chest and I could feel your heart beating, so I knew you were alive. So I tried to get you to wake up. Then, when the car caught fire, I started yelling and trying to pull you out. It was impossible. You were so heavy, and your boot was stuck on something. You moaned but you didn’t wake up.” A prickly knot sprouts in my throat, sparking tears in my eyes. I swallow against it. “The fire was getting so hot, and so much closer, and the smell from the fire and your friend . . .”
Brett inhales sharply.
“I gave up on getting you out. I backed away, knowing that you were alive. The other night, you said that most people would have left you there. I’m one of them. I did leave you there.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did! I was just about to turn and head for the ditch to get away from the fire when you finally lifted your head. That’s the only reason I came back. But I did leave you there.” Suddenly the sickening weight on my lungs lessons, and with each inhale, breathing becomes easier.
An odd bittersweet relief overwhelms me. Relief that Brett now knows the full truth.
But what does he think?
My heart pounds in my ears for ten long beats before he speaks. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I frown, seeing the mixture of amusement and sympathy on his face.
“Cath. You didn’t leave me there.”
“But I—”
“You didn’t leave me there,” he repeats. “And even if you hadn’t gotten me out, and I hadn’t survived, you still didn’t leave me there.” His eyes narrow with understanding. “Is this why you’ve been hiding?”
“I guess it hasn’t helped. This, and just being in the limelight again. I had a rough time after that stuff in high school. A lot of people around here saying and doing things to me and to my family. I really didn’t want to relive it, and I don’t want Brenna dragged into it either. She’ll hear about it one day. I just wanted it to be on my terms.”
In a somewhat tentative move, he reaches over to rope an arm around my body. He pulls me closer to him, until my shoulder is pressed against his side. His other hand finds my chin, lifting it until I’m forced to peer into his eyes. “I won’t let that happen. And besides, I don’t think there’ll be a single bad thing that anyone can say about you after they watch this interview.”
I feel my cheeks flushing at being so close to him. “You may be a little bit biased.”
His sad smile dissolves into a dazzling one. “You’re right, I’m completely biased. You could do just about anything and I’d still have you sitting high on a pedestal.”
My chest swells with a sudden and overwhelming wave of affection for this man.
I must be starving for human connection because, just like the other night, I can’t help but sink into him, resting my head against his strong chest, trying to get closer, wishing that time would stand still.
“You ready to go out there and face the world together?”
“Or we could just stay right here?” I joke.
“That sounds like an even better idea,” he says softly, as his gaze drifts over my bed and then back to my face, his eyes dropping to my mouth and lingering.
As if he might want to kiss me.
Foolish wishes for a foolish girl.
I remember feeling this same way long ago, sitting in a hard plastic chair at the front of the class, lost in a teenage girl’s impossible daydream, in which my art teacher might lust for me as I did for him. Where he might pick me over all the other, prettier girls in school.
That impossible daydream turned out to be not so impossible after all.