Page 108 of The Wrong Game

“I know,” she whispered. “You don’t have to figure out anything tonight, okay?”

Gemma rolled in my arms, and her eyes found mine in the dim lighting of my apartment. She swept her hand over my face, tucking it behind my neck, her thumb brushing my jaw.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m right here.”

I nodded, pulling her into my chest and somehow finding a way to hold her tighter than before. My chest ached again, but this time it was with thankfulness, with a gratefulness I hadn’t known I could feel.

I didn’t know what I would do. I didn’t know how I would survive without Doc in my life, let alone without him there at that bar every night I went to work. I didn’t know if I’d keep the bar, if I could run it on my own, if I could bear the thought of losing it or what I would do if he did sell it, what the money would go toward.

I didn’t know what I wanted.

But, she was right, I didn’t have to figure it out tonight.

Tonight, I would hold Gemma, and listen to her breathing. I’d feel her heartbeat against my skin, and I’d find comfort in the fact that no matter what I chose to do, she was here.

She came.

She listened.

She understood.

She washere, with me, in one of the darkest nights I’d known since I found out Micah had cancer when I was only eighteen years old.

I hadn’t had anyone then, but I had Gemma now.

And that was what I held onto as I drifted off to sleep.

Gemma

My family never had dinner together.

My parents traveled more so than not, and when they were home, they were always working, making plans for their next speaking tour. Since their inspirational speeches about their relationship and how they “made it” were heavily influenced by religion, they also spent more dinners with the Bible than they did with me.

We were a family of fast food, or easy food, and eating in the living room with the television on for me and the computers in reach for them.

Carlo was always just as busy. Being the head of a tech company that was always hungry for more, he didn’t know how to leave work at work. But, I was used to it. I’d grown up with it. So, him working at the dinner table never fazed me. I would just text Belle or work on my own lists and projects — whether for Belle’s business or just around the house — leaving him be.

The only exception to my “working dinners” lifestyle was when I’d stay with my grandpa when I was younger.

We’d always have dinner together.

Most of the time, it was something he’d hunted himself. When his age started to affect his body more, we turned to easier things, like microwave dinners, but we always had them together.

We’d sit at his little folding table, playing cards and chatting while we ate.

I liked those dinners the best.

But regardless, my family dinners wereneverlike Zach’s.

It’d been a night of nonstop laughter, with Micah and Zach bantering back and forth and Mrs. Bowen chiming in with the occasional warning or thump on the head. Mr. Bowen was mostly quiet, but his eyes were warm, and when it was his turn to talk, I learned quickly that he loved to exaggerate what actually happened — especially when it came to a fishing or golfing story.

At one point, I sat back and looked around at all of them smiling, seeing how strong their bond was and feeling somewhat like a distant witness. It was something I’d always wanted, something I’d envisioned having one day with Carlo and our kids.

My stomach had dipped at that, and I’d shaken him from my memory. Instead, I let myself focus on Zach.

He’d invited me home for dinner, something I knew had to be important to him. He’d already told me what his family meant to him, and the way they all hugged me when I got here tonight, the way his father kept looking at me across the table with a curious smile, I had a feeling I was the first woman to ever get the invitation.

I let myself mull over it all, the past few weeks running through my mind in little flashes as I stood on Zach’s back porch and watched the sun dip lazily over the horizon. The gold rays caught the grass and trees in a slant, casting beautiful, haunting shadows across the yard.