"I knew you'd understand in a way they wouldn't." The truth slipped out before he'd thought it over. He didn't know why or how, not really. There was just some unshakable knowledge inside him that Shay Meyers knew what it was like to have the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. That she knew what it was like to try and protect the people she loved from a terrible truth.
"Thank you," she said, and with the words, that current between them rushed stronger still, swirling all around him and thickening the air until it was impossible to breathe.
"You're welcome," he said, and when he pulled into the driveway of the house, it was all he could do not to sweep Shay into his arms and carry her inside.
Chapter 9
Matt stared out the window, watching Shay as she sat on the edge of the waves, the ocean wind whipping her hair around her heart-shaped face. From this angle of the window, he could just make out the curve of her lips in the moonlight, the shape of her chin, but there was little else to tell him how she was feeling. What she was thinking.
She spent most of the afternoon after they'd gotten back in her bedroom, on the phone with one magazine or another trying to sort things out for him. All the while, he tried to stay out of his room, tried not to eavesdrop, but then he headed into his bedroom to grab his computer and caught another snatch of her voice on the phone. This time, it had been less professional and measured than the other calls. Instead, she was almost shrill.
"It's been less than a year," she was saying. "You can't be serious."
He paused, glanced at his computer, and then sat down on his bed. He felt guilty, beyond guilty, really, but he had to know what was going on. Wanted to know the things he knew she'd never tell him aloud.
"No, it's not. It's not okay. You're just giving up."
There was a long pause, and then nothing else. With every passing moment, the surge of guilt rose inside him, and when it finally reached a fever pitch, he gripped his computer and headed for the door.
After that, he hadn't seen Shay for the rest of the night.
She hadn't even come out for dinner. Instead, she stayed in her bedroom, doing God only knew what, while Andy went to check on her every couple of hours.
Now it was ten and the moon was high in the sky while the waves crashed out beyond the rocks, and Shay sat on the sand with her legs stretched out in front of her, staring at the stars and doing nothing.
"You can go talk to her, you know." He nearly jumped at the sound of his sister's voice.
"I think she wants to be alone."
"You never know until you ask."
"Didn't you ask?"
"Yes."
"And what did she say?"
"That she wants to be alone. But that doesn't mean she always knows what's best for her. I think she's sick of hearing the same talk from me. You could probably be a nice fresh voice for her."
"I don't know." He stared out the window again, studying the angular curve of her jaw.
"Well, there's only one way to find out." Andy shrugged. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you later."
She trotted off through the kitchen and down the hall, and once he heard her bedroom door close, he started off toward the sliding door.
It was hard to say why he did it. Maybe because she'd been there for him today when she didn't even know it, but he wanted—no, needed—to help. Needed to help her bear some of her burden.
When he was a few feet away from her, he stopped and said, "Hey."
Slowly, she turned and he noticed the little smudges of tears streaking her face. She ran the back of her hand over her cheeks, sniffed, and said, "Hey."
"You want to be alone?" he asked.
"I'm sick of being alone." She patted the sand beside her, and the wind whipped the chiffon of her skirt over her knees and swung her hair in front of her face.
He joined her on the ground and stared out at the ocean for
a long moment, letting the crashing of the waves and the saltiness of the wind envelope them, along with the darkness of the sky and the light of the stars. It was a beautiful night, and despite the breeze, the water was calm. He could see why she'd come here to soothe herself. Even in the few seconds he'd been here, a part of him was loosening and relaxing, too.