Guilty Needs(6)

It might if he let himself think about it, but he wasn’t ready to do that.

Fortunately, Bree seemed content to drive in silence, not trying to force him to talk about anything, anybody. Since they’d climbed into the big black truck she drove when she was working, she hadn’t said anything.

It was meticulous inside the cab. Bree owned her own landscaping service and usually her truck was a mess of notes, gloves, fast-food boxes, clipboards on the inside and the truck bed was full of tools and equipment.

But today it was pristine. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the headrest and breathed in the scent of Armor All, rain—and Bree. The woman always smelled like flowers. Incongruous as hell, such a soft, feminine scent on Bree, a woman who stood five-foot ten, hauled around forty-pound bags of soil and regularly kicked ass on the basketball court. With the rain pounding down around them and the quiet in the truck’s cab, he almost—almost—felt comforted.

Almost felt as though he was ready to think about it.

A knot formed in his throat and he realized he wanted to talk—needed to talk. But then the truck stopped and the engine cut off. Opening his eyes, he saw that they were in Bree’s driveway. The thirty-minute drive had passed far too quickly and dread churned inside him. He didn’t want to go in there.

What the hell had he been thinking?

Bree’s house would be almost as bad as home—pictures of the two women all over the place, ranging from when they’d been cute kindergarteners showing off gap-toothed grins up to the barbecue at the house last summer. Up until Alyssa had gotten too weak to leave the house, she’d still come over to Bree’s house two or three times a week and many of those times, Colby had been with her. This place had practically been a second home.

But Bree was already climbing out of the truck. She stood in the driveway, and once more, rain soaked her through. She stared at him levelly and he knew she wasn’t going to go inside until he did. Some lingering courtesy had him climbing out of the truck, and as one, they headed into the garage. The garage was half office space, half storage space and unlike her truck, it was always meticulously organized.

Inside the house, warmth wrapped around him and he abruptly realized how damn wet he was. He stripped out of his overcoat and Bree took it from him before he could figure out where to put it. As she moved away, he pushed a hand through his wet hair and glanced down and realized he was dripping all over the floor. He took off his shoes—they were probably ruined after standing in mud and rain all day. Something knotted in his chest as he carefully put them on the floor by the door. Alyssa had made him buy the damn things a few years ago, telling him he needed to own something besides three or four pairs of tennis shoes, a pair of hiking boots and a very badly abused pair of loafers.

Dragging his eyes away from the shoes, he headed into the kitchen and found Bree standing at the counter, making up a pot of coffee. The strong scent of it already filled the air. Grabbing a couple of paper towels, he mopped the rain from his face and hands. His clothes were still damp but at least he wasn’t dripping now that he’d taken off the shoes and coat.

“You want something to eat?” Bree asked quietly.

“No.”

She grimaced. “Me neither. Okay, let’s try this—have you eaten anything today?”

Colby blinked and tried to remember. No. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. Yesterday at the visitation, one of their friends had tried to talk him into a sandwich, but after two bites, he’d put it down. As far as he could recall, that was the last thing he’d eaten and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d eaten much of anything since…

Since…

Shit. The burn of tears stung his eyes and he turned away from Bree and rubbed a hand across his face. He wasn’t ready to do this. Not yet. Not here. Where and when escaped him, because Colby wasn’t too certain he’d ever be ready to acknowledge reality, but he sure as hell didn’t want to do it here and now.

“Colby.”

He glanced at Bree over his shoulder and gave a half-hearted shrug. “No. I’m not really hungry—” he tried to tell her but she was already rooting through the refrigerator.

Over her shoulder, she said, “I’m not hungry either, but we both should probably eat. I bet I haven’t had a regular meal this week.” Turning to face him, her arms full of lettuce, lunch meat and tomatoes, she cocked a brow at him. “Have you?”

“No.” Colby couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hungry, though. Probably a couple of months ago, ever since the visit to the oncologist had revealed that the chemo hadn’t worked. The thought of eating anything held about as much appeal as going back out into that cold, driving rain.

Heaving out a tired sigh, he dropped down onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “What is it about funerals and food? Megan Lowell kept asking me about a wake, asking if she should bring something.”

Bree slid him a glance. “Yeah. She cornered me and told me that the two of us, me and her, should take care it, have it over at your place. I told her you probably weren’t too keen on that idea.”

“Good.” Something occurred to him as she pulled a knife from a chopping block and started to slice a tomato. “You ran interference for me the past couple of days. Thank you.”

She shrugged. “That’s what friends do. You’ve got enough to deal with right now.”