Finding Him (Covet 2)

“No thanks to you.” She jabbed a finger in my direction. “I had to call Izzy to find out what restaurant I’d need to crash. Thankfully she called me back right away and offered her firstborn if only I’d show up and order you whiskey.”

Bridge let out a snort while Izzy burst out laughing. And then Bridge elbowed Izzy. “You didn’t really offer up our child?”

Izzy just patted his hand and rolled her eyes, reminding me why they were better for each other from the start, reminding me why we only ever had friendship and a tumultuous relationship where neither of us was ever fully satisfied but constantly trying to be something we weren’t.

I could have sworn in that moment, Izzy knew the direction of my thoughts. She nodded her head slightly and lifted her water glass in silent acknowledgment of something I refused to decipher, but it felt a hell of a lot like waving a white flag and shouting, “Peace.”

The waiter arrived before I could say anything, and then Keaton’s hand was on my thigh, squeezing.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I exhaled and covered her hand, giving a return squeeze. She quickly let go, but it was enough for me to think that maybe this was a baby step in the right direction.

Both of us appearing in public meant nothing.

But to me it meant something.

It meant people would wonder.

It also meant that I would have to control myself when all I wanted to do was throw her onto the table and kiss her senseless for coming.

My eyes greedily scanned the menu, reading everything, understanding nothing, because I was too focused on the woman sitting next to me, when someone cleared their throat.

It was a teenage girl. She was holding out her iPhone and staring at Keaton like Keaton was going to sprout ten heads. “Um, hi, you don’t know me, and I know you guys are about ready to have dinner . . .” Her eyes fell to me in confusion then back to Keaton. “But could I get a selfie with you?”

Keaton beamed. “Of course!” She quickly got out of her seat while the girl jabbered on and on.

About Noah. “OMG! I followed your guys’ love story and bawled my eyes out when he had his stroke and then to think you only had a few more days with him . . . I had to take a week off school. I’m still not over it.” She sniffled. “Your love story is so beautiful!”

“Thank you.” Keaton suddenly looked uncomfortable as she took a picture with the young girl and thanked her again.

“Oh, one more thing!” The girl smiled. “Do you plan to do anything for Noah’s birthday this year? You know, like you did last year with the cake? It would be a really cool way to memorialize him, and I know your fans would love it.”

Keaton looked ready to barf. “Um, maybe, it just depends. This is all still very difficult for me, and I’m writing his book right now.”

“Ohhhh.” The girl pressed her hands to her chest like she was going to cry. “That’s so wonderful! So this must be a business meeting, I’m so sorry!”

Now I was uncomfortable as I looked from Bridge to Izzy, both of whom had frozen smiles on their faces like they were thinking, Get this girl out of here before Julian pops a blood vessel in his forehead from smiling too forcefully.

I was seconds away from that actually happening when the girl finally left and Keaton sat back down.

The entire table was silent, and then she said in a small voice, “Sometimes I wonder if they’ll punish me for moving on.”

Izzy spoke first. “It’s not their call to make, Keaton.”

“Kinda feels like it, though.” She sighed and then frowned down at the menu. “Sorry,” she said in a tight voice. “Sorry—I’ll be right back.” She shoved her chair away from the table and rushed toward the restrooms.

Shit.

She was getting sick again.

“Sorry, guys. She hasn’t been feeling well.” I pushed my chair back and followed after her as she vanished into the ladies’ room. It was hell waiting outside the door, but she returned around six minutes later—yes, I timed it. “I need a toothbrush, gum, something . . .”

I smiled. “Fresh out of all of the above, but you could always swish whiskey around your mouth. Isn’t that what alcohol does? Disinfect? Kill?”

She swiped under her eyes and laughed. “Good to know that we have the same beliefs about whiskey, though I don’t think doctors use it on wounds anymore.”

“Not true. They do use alcohol to disinfect,” I pointed out, pulling her in for a small hug. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think it’s just this trigger now. Every time it feels like too much, my body just reacts, you know?”