“Joshua Bassett?”
Josh ducks his head, and I know with certainty how afraid he is right now. I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t twist my heart.
“That’s me,” he mutters and then pushes out of the chair, the clipboard trembling in his hands.
The attendant gives him a gentle smile. He has gray around his temples and a completely gray beard, and the smile makes him look friendly. Trustworthy. “I’m Lawrence. We’re ready for you,” he says and then nods toward us. “We can head to your room as soon as you’ve said your goodbyes.”
Josh literally gulps.
“You got this, man,” Zach says, his voice warm and rough. And then the man I love does something that rivets my heart to his for the rest of my days. He steps closer to Josh and opens his arms.
Josh pretty much collapses into them.
My throat goes extra tight watching them. And something deeper heals inside me. Because I don’t want to be alone in forgiving Josh. I’m glad that’s something I can share with Zach.
When they release each other, Josh turns to me, and the emotions hit me like a rogue wave. I’m crying before I even realize it.
I’m not even sure I could name all of what I’m feeling. I’m proud. I’m sad. I’m relieved. I’m regretful. I’m grateful. There’s too much to sort out, so I just sob instead. I take a lesson from Zach and open my arms.
And this time, Josh steps gently into them. For the last time.
Already, he feels different. Unfamiliar. Like he’s a stranger against me.
“Oh, Greta,” he whispers. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I bite my lip, suddenly unsure what to say back. My gaze flits to Zach, whose eyes are alert.
I swallow, searching for words, but it turns out I don’t have to.
“And if my sobriety is the last thing you give me, I’m gonna hold onto it for the rest of my life,” Josh whispers in a rush, and then he lets go of me.
By the time I dry my eyes, he’s already shaking hands with Lawrence. He looks back at us, gives us an unsteady wave, and then he’s gone.
And it makes no sense at all, but I’m a wreck. A snotty, sobbing wreck.
Thank God places like these have boxes of tissue on every surface because when Zach presses a soft square to my cheek, I clutch it like a life preserver.
And to my ever-growing pile of over-the-top feels, you can add mortification because after the week I’ve had, I must look like crap, and the crying has got to be top-tier ugly.
Zach’s hand lands lightly on my elbow. “C’mon, Greta. Let’s get you home.”
And, damn him for his kindness, because it just makes me cry even harder.
* * *
We drive backto Camp Bliss in almost total silence.
I’m completely wrung out. Zach must be too.
I’d like nothing better than to spoon with him in my bed, but I have to prepare Happy Hour for our least happy guests ever.
I smother a groan, but I must not silence it.
“You okay?” Zach asks, keeping his gaze on the highway.
I sigh. “Camp Bliss South guests. Just dreading serving them again.”
He whips his head to me, frowning. “I got that, Greta.”