"I'm worried about Mia. We all lost so much that night, but it's like she was a casualty, too, and nobody noticed."
The bird flies away, and I put my good hand on top of Brogan's, testing the feel of his too-pliant flesh against my palm. This is the part where I'm supposed to say sorry. I'm supposed to apologize for not being a better friend, for getting in the way, for every dumb-ass decision I made that night.
But I can't. It doesn't seem right to force-feed him an apology he won't be able to reject. I don't deserve his forgiveness.
Mrs. Barrett walks into the room and gives me a sad smile. "Thought I'd check and see if you'd like some coffee."
I wonder if she knows she's rescuing me from myself right now.
I release Brogan's hand and nod as I stand and follow her to the kitchen. "That would be nice."
"He looks good today, doesn't he?" she asks over her shoulder.
No. He looks broken and empty. A shell of a man.
I smile instead of answering, and she shakes her head. "Sorry. I'm used to Mia's visits. Saying what she needs to hear." Her hands shake as she pulls two mugs from the cabinet and picks up the coffee pot. "I'm not blind. I do know how he really looks."
She hands me a steaming mug, and I take a sip, letting the hot, bitter liquid scald my tongue. "Mia's not handling this very well, is she?"
"No." Mrs. Barrett wraps her hands around her mug and stares into it. "I wasn't very kind to her while she and Brog were dating, and now I feel a little responsible for her. I should have been a better mother. Accepted her instead of worrying that he could have been with someone better." She shakes her head, and her eyes fill with tears. "Sometimes the price of perspective is just too high."
I don't know what to say, so I steal my therapist's words, rewriting them to work for Mrs. Barrett. "You loved Brogan. You were the best mom you knew how to be." I'm almost surprised when the words fit between us, right where they need to go. When the doctor said them to me, they felt like just another platitude. "Let the rest go."
"His kidneys are failing." Tears wet her mascara-caked lashes and spill onto her cheeks, bringing smudges of eye makeup with them. "I keep praying that God will show me the way, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do. The doctors don't really think we should begin dialysis, but if we don't . . ."
Let him go. The words sit trapped in my throat. Please, let him go.
"I think maybe it's time for Brogan to join Jesus."
Let him. I stare at her, willing her to feel the words I don't dare speak. Would Mia hate me if she knew I felt this way? If she knew my greatest wish was for her boyfriend's death?
She clears her throat and wipes away her tears. "We haven't told Mia yet. I just want to be sure before I break her heart. Can you keep this secret?"
I nod, but I don't dare speak. My throat's too thick, my heart too full of secrets to carry another.
"This dinner is important to Uriah," Gwen says, smoothing an invisible wrinkle in her skirt. "Make sure everyone's wine stays full and their dinners are served while hot." She takes a deep breath, and I almost feel sorry for her. It must be hard having to play the part of the perfect trophy wife all the time. But then she ruins it. "And try not to look at Arrow like he's your celebrity crush, okay?"
My jaw clenches. "Not a problem. When will Katie be back?"
"Mom's going to keep her all night. I don't know how long Uriah's guests are going to stay, and I didn't want you distracted by your duties tonight with a fussy baby."
"Right." Damn, this job was easier when I liked Gwen, but she's been increasingly bitchy since Arrow's been home.
"You said your friend was going to help you?"
"Bailey's in the kitchen. She has lots of experience serving, so don't worry." I don't mention that most of that experience took place behind the doors of the Pretty Kitty.
The doorbell sounds at the same time as the buzzer rings from the kitchen.
"Let's do this," Gwen says. Her hands tremble slightly and she smooths her skirt, letting me peek at the insecurities beneath her bitchy façade for a split second.
When I step into the kitchen, Bailey already has the oven open. "The hors d'oeuvres are ready." She pulls out the pan and wrinkles her nose. "What is this shit?"
"Shh!" I look over my shoulder to make sure no one else is in here, but of course, the guests are just arriving and oblivious to Bailey's potty mouth. Loud, forced laughter carries in from the foyer and across the hall. "It's escargot wrapped in bacon," I tell Bailey, grabbing the glass serving platter I'll present them on.
"Escar- That's snail, isn't it? That's just the fancy-people way of saying snails."
"Can't get anything by you, Bail."
"Just looking at them makes me want to gag. No way would I put something that disgusting in my mouth."
"Never stopped you before," a deep voice says from the hallway door.
Bailey spins around to put a face to the asshole, but her glare softens when she sees Mason. Bailey can take razzing from Mason because she knows he doesn't mean it. Anybody else would probably have a knee in the balls by now.
"I made a one-time exception for you," she says, batting her lashes.
"Don't think I don't appreciate it." He looks over his shoulder toward the dining room, then shuts the door behind him and lowers his voice. "What the fuck happened to Arrow's hand?"
The question kicks at my heart like a couple of shock paddles.
"Do you remember? I need to know."
"I don't regret it."
Bailey and Mason both stare at me, and I realize I haven't answered. "The idiot punched a picture frame, but it was hung on a stud, so instead of busting right through the wall, he broke two bones in his hand."
His dad came out of his room while I was trying to get Arrow upstairs, and he took over. It was pathetic how much I wanted to be the one to take Arrow to the ER. Would he have kept talking?
"Ouch," Mason says, massaging his own knuckles. "That's . . ." He shakes out his hand. "His hand."
"His hand is his hand?" Bailey asks. "Aren't you the genius?"
"You know what I'm saying. How's he supposed to play ball with his hand all banged up? I know he's out for this season, but he could have fucked it up long-term."
"It's like that's the point," I whisper. I hate the way he looked at his busted hand-as if it were inconsequential.
"If you're in the kitchen, you have to help," Bailey tells Mason, and I'm grateful for the change in subject.
Mason grins and unbuttons the cuffs of his gray Oxford, the one that makes his green eyes even dreamier than normal and his dark skin look like melted chocolate. He rolls up his sleeves. "Honestly, I'm more comfortable serving than being served. Put me to work."
"Mason," I say. "We can't let you help. Gwen would kill us."
Bailey presses the palm of her hand to my chest, gently pushing me away from Mason. "Mia, the sexy man is offering to do the dishes. Let him, please?"
I roll my eyes. "Get out of here, Mason. Gwen would be horrified to know the staff was fraternizing with one of her guests."
He arches a brow. "The staff? That's not seriously how you see yourself?"
"That is literally what we are." I nudge him toward the hall. "So get out of here."
Mason turns pleading eyes on Bailey. "Don't make me go out there, Bail. They're talking about the year of the wine, and I can't pretend to care."
"Who's out there anyway?" Bailey asks. "We were told it was a party for some of Uriah's friends."
He grunts then drops his voice to a whisper. "Mr. Woodison is kissing ass. This dinner is all about sweet-talking Coach. I'm just here to make it less awkward, but Arrow's mood is so foul you could have the whole team at that table and it would still be uncomfortable as fuck."
I snap my gaze around to Mason. "Arrow's in there?" Gwen's comment about not looking at Arrow should have tipped me off, but I just thought he'd be around, not at the table. I don't know why I assumed he'd stay in his room. He's on house arrest, not solitary confinement. But I don't want to have to look at him tonight. I don't want his angry eyes watching me while I serve dinner and refill their drinks.
"I'd better get out of here," Mason says. He gives Bailey a final once-over that's so suggestive it makes me blush. "Stay out of trouble, sexy."