Finding Focus (17 page)

Sheridan

GRAHAM’S LIGHT SNORES FROM HIS
bed make me look up from the television show I’ve been zoning out on for the past hour. I don’t even know what I’m watching, some survivor show on Discovery. I yawn and consider closing my eyes. Watching Graham sleep makes me tired, even though I shouldn’t be. I haven’t done shit today.

The nurse came earlier this morning and helped Graham shower . . . well, I guess she just supported his leg while he showered himself. Then Kaitlyn came by for his physical therapy session. So, I guess technically, Graham has been the more productive one today. Although, while he was doing his PT, I did run down to the store to grab a few things for nachos later, so I wasn’t a total bum.

When another loud snore erupts from Graham’s sleeping form, I glare at him, willing him to stop breathing.

Everything he does lately annoys the shit out of me. He smacks when he eats. He breathes heavily. He snores. He also does this weird hacking thing all the time. And hearing him whine about not being able to work or go do his guy things makes me want to stab my eardrums. He should’ve kept his ass at home and we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Maybe it’s me?

Maybe I need out of this apartment.

Maybe it’s time for Aunt Flo to visit. I think, counting back days since my last period. I don’t really keep track of it since my sex life has been non-existent.

I miss sex.

I could definitely stand to get laid. It’s been . . . shit. It’s been a long damn time.

Since that’s out of the question, I do the next best thing and shoot Micah a text.

Me: Is it possible to go crazy just by listening to someone breathe? And how am I just now learning he’s an occasional smacker?

Micah: Your man’s a mouth-breather and a smacker? That’s gross. I have to admit, I’m disappointed in your choice of boyfriends.

Me: Well, they can’t all be southern playboys, you know?

Micah: That’s a damn shame.

As I’m getting ready to send back a response, a loud knock from the front door echoes through the apartment, I consider turning the television down and pretending I’m not at home. I’m not expecting anyone and Graham has had all of his scheduled appointments for the day, so I can’t imagine who it would be. I’m definitely not in the mood for solicitors or anyone else who might be out there, but after another loud knock, I pull myself off the couch and shuffle to the door.

“Who is it?” I ask, through the door, while simultaneously unlatching the lock. I don’t know why I do that. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask and then open. Peeking through the crack, I see a man in a brown uniform.

“Ms. Reed?” he asks.

“Yep, that’s me,” I answer, opening the door wider.

“I have a package for you. Please sign here.” He hands his clipboard over to me and a smile breaks across my face.
Piper Grey
. Piper sending me a package must mean . . .

I squeal, quickly sign on the dotted line, practically throw the clipboard back to him, and grab my package in return.

“Uh, have a nice day,” the delivery man says, a bit taken aback by my sudden outburst.

“Thank you!” I yell through the now closed door.

“What’s all the screaming about?” Graham asks, still half asleep.

“I got a package from Piper!”

“Well, yippee,” he says, his voice laced with annoyance and sarcasm.

Ignoring Graham, I plop back down on the couch and rip the seal on the package, taking care not to bend or damage anything inside in my haste. When I get my hands on what’s inside, my heart beats faster and my mouth falls open.

When my phone starts singing about huge asses, I jump.

“Hello?” I say, putting it up to my ear without even seeing who’s calling.

“Do you love it?” Piper asks.

“I do. How’d you—why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is barely above a whisper, unable to take my eyes off of the magazine in my hand. My photo—my creation—is on the front cover of
Southern Style Magazine.

This can’t be real life
.

Piper’s giggle from the other end lets me know I probably said that out loud. “It’s real life, and it’s gorgeous, Dani! I wanted to tell you a couple of weeks ago when they decided to use it, but I figured the surprise would be worth keeping it a secret.”

“You have no idea . . .” My voice trails as it begins to crack. “You just don’t know what this means to me.” A small sob breaks free, but it’s okay, because this is Piper, and she knows me. She’s been there through all sorts of tears, but these are good ones, and she made them happen. “Thank you.”

“Hey, I just opened the door. The kickass job was all on you. They absolutely loved you, by the way. My senior editor said they want to use you for the roadside diner article.”

“Shut up!”

“Yep! I don’t have a start date yet, but don’t get too comfy in New York, Sheridan Reed. Your ass is gonna be back in God’s country in no time.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes! And, ‘thank you, Piper. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.’ Also, say I’ll get to see you on this trip. I don’t think I can go another six months.”

“Yes. To all of that.”

“Good.”

She sighs contentedly into the phone. She’s happy. She’s happy that I’m happy. And I am
so
happy.

“You just turned a shitty day into the best day ever.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

The call waiting beeps in my ear and I feel Graham shift beside me.

“Hey, Pipe. I’m getting another call. Lemme take this. I’ll call you back later.”

“Okay! We’ll celebrate over Skype. Grab a bottle of wine before you call me back.”

“It’s a plan!” I switch the call, effectively hanging up on Piper.

“Hello?” I say, not recognizing the other caller’s number.

“Sheridan Reed!” I’d know this voice anywhere.

“Annie!”

“Sweetheart, I just got a package from
Southern Style
, and I’m speechless! I can’t tell you how much this means to me. And your picture of the house on the front cover . . .” She lets out a deep breath, “honey, it’s the most beautiful thing ever. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“No, sweet girl, thank you! This is just . . . well, I can’t wait to kiss you when I see you next.”

I laugh into the phone, basking in her warmth and goodness. “I can’t wait for that.”

“I’m cooking for you, too. Anything you want.”

“That sounds amazing.”

The phone grows quiet for a moment before Annie starts again. “We miss you down here, you know.”

“I miss down there.”

“What’s keepin’ you?”

“Oh, you know, life . . .”

“Well, don’t forget to take care of yourself. What Dani wants is important, too.”

“Thank you. And I won’t. Oh, and I just spoke to my best friend who works for
Southern Style
, and she told me she got the green light on the roadside diner article I want to write.”

“Oh, that’s great news! So, we will see you, right?”

“Of course! I can’t come down there without visiting my favorite family.” Graham clears his throat, reminding me I’m not alone. I’m guessing he doesn’t like me making plans without him.
Interesting.

“Well, you let me know the details and I’ll set up a room for you. You’re not staying at that dump of a motel.”

I laugh. “I’ll take you up on that! Not sure when or how long I’ll be in your area, but I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds great. Take care, Dani.”

“You too, Annie.”

When I hang up, I stare at the magazine in my lap, feeling my excitement bubble up all over again.

“Well, let me see it,” Graham says, holding out his hand.

I hand it over to him and watch as his eyes take in the cover.

“That’s mine,” I tell him, pointing to the cover. “I did that.”

“That’s great, Dani,” he says, smiling. “Congratulations.”

”Read the article,” I tell him, shifting in my spot to face him. I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice.

“Okay.” He laughs and then begins to flip through the pages while I hover over his shoulder. When he finally lands on my article, I draw in a sharp breath. It’s exactly what I had hoped it would be. The photos tell it all. There’s no need to read the words on the page, although I hope people do. I want them to see how wonderful it is there. I hope they feel the sense of home and comfort I felt.

Graham sits in silence for a few minutes while he reads through the article. “It’s really good,” he finally says, looking up at me.

“Thank you,” I tell him, leaning a little closer to get a better look at the far page.

He turns his body until we’re eye to eye. I don’t move as his hand reaches up and brushes my hair from my face, pushing it over my shoulder. Then, his lips brush my cheek . . . and then my mouth. It’s soft and gentle, barely more than a kiss you’d give a friend, but it takes me by surprise.

My eyes grow wide and I pull back from the unexpectedness.

“What?” he asks, laughing nervously while his hand still touches my cheek.

“What was that for?” I ask.

“Congratulations . . . a job well done . . .” He pauses and his eyes search my face. “Can I not kiss my girlfriend?” he asks, rubbing his thumb against my skin.

“Yeah,” I say, a bit taken aback by his actions and words. “Of course you can.”

When I settle back onto my side of the couch, my fingers touch my lips, trying to process how I’m feeling. This shouldn’t be weird. I’ve been kissing Graham for years. He’s the only person I’ve kissed. So, why does it feel weird?

“I really am proud of you, Dani.”

Turning to look at him, I see a touch of sincerity in his eyes and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. Jealousy, maybe?

“Thanks, Graham.”

I watch him as he continues looking through the magazine. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth twists. “Is this the family who owns the plantation?” he asks, pointing to the family picture.

“Yeah, that’s the Landrys.”

“You really like them, huh?”

“Yeah, they’re
such
good people.”

“Who’s this?” he asks, pointing to the biggest guy in the family, with the biggest dimples.

“That’s Deacon.”

“And this?”

“Micah.” Just saying his name makes my stomach flip flop and my pulse quicken.

Graham snorts. “Spoiled rich brats,” he says, turning the page.

Um, hello. Pot, meet kettle.

“They’re nothing like that.”

“Right.”

“They’re not!” I semi-playfully swat his good arm and bite my tongue before I start a full-blown argument.

“Well, the house is really pretty,” he says, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the table. “And you did a good job on the pictures.”

“Thanks.”

I grab my phone, anything to distract me from telling Graham he’s one to talk about rich, spoiled brats. His dad may be an asshole, but he’s always given Graham everything he’s ever wanted. The Landry boys might be spoiled, but it’s with love. I’ve seen the way they help and care about others. You can be spoiled without being rotten . . . well, Micah and Deacon definitely have their rotten moments. I smile and shake my head.

I miss them
.

Me: Did you see the article?

Micah: Looking at it right now. You’re amazing!

Me: Thank you.

Micah: I’m serious, Dani. I can’t even tell you how proud I am of you. Everything from the pictures to the words on the page . . . it’s so fucking good.

I beam at his words. They make me feel good—better than when I opened the package and saw
my
photograph on the front cover.