Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(40)

Warren is asleep on the couch when I take the vest to Maggie’s bedroom. Her lamp is still on, so I can see that she’s still wide awake. I walk over to her bed and plug in the generator and hand her the vest. She sits up and slips it on.

“There’s a short. I have to hold the cord while it’s powered on or it’ll cut off.”

She nods, but she doesn’t say anything. We both know this routine. The machine runs for five minutes, and then she has to cough to clear out her lungs. I run it for another five minutes and then let her take another coughing break. The routine continues for half an hour.

When the treatment is over, she slips off the vest and continues to avoid eye contact with me as she rolls over. I lay it on the floor, but when I look back at her, I can tell by the movement in her shoulders that she’s crying.

And now I feel like an asshole.

I know I get frustrated with her, but she isn’t perfect. Neither am I. And as long as we’re doing nothing but arguing and pointing out each other’s shortcomings, we’re never going to get her health on the right track.

I sit next to her on the bed and squeeze her shoulder. It’s what I used to do when I felt helpless to her situation. She reaches up and squeezes my hand, and just like that, the argument is over. She rolls over onto her back and looks up at me.

“I didn’t tell Warren on the phone that I was scared.”

I nod. “I know that now.”

A tear falls from her eye and slides down into her hair. “But he’s right, Ridge. I am scared.”

I’ve never seen this look on her face before, and it completely guts me. I hate this for her. I really do. She starts crying harder and rolls away from me. And as much as I want to tell her it wouldn’t be so scary if she’d stop acting like she was immune to the effects of her illness, I don’t respond. I wrap my arm around her because she doesn’t need a lecture right now.

She just needs a friend.

???

I made Maggie do a second treatment in the middle of the night last night. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep somewhere in the middle of her second treatment, because I woke up at eight o’clock this morning and realized I was on her bed. I know Sydney wouldn’t be comfortable with that, so I moved to the couch. I’m still on the couch. Face down. Trying to sleep, but Warren is shaking me.

I reach for my phone and look at the time, not expecting it to be noon. I sit up immediately, wondering why he let me sleep so long.

“Get up,” he signs. “We need to get Maggie’s car and drop it back off here before we head back to Austin.”

I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “We need to go to the medical supply store first,” I tell him. “I want to see if they can give her a generator until hers gets repaired.”

Warren signs “okay” and walks to the bathroom.

I fall back against the couch and sigh. I hate how this whole trip has gone. It’s left me with an unsettled feeling, which, funny enough, is exactly what Sydney was hoping for. I smile, knowing she got her way and she doesn’t even know it. I haven’t spoken to her since all the fighting between me, Maggie, and Warren last night. I open my texts to her and notice she hasn’t texted since we talked last night. I wonder how her night with Bridgette went.



Ridge: Heading back soon. How was your sleepover?



She begins texting back immediately. I watch the text bubbles appear and disappear several times until her text comes through.



Sydney: Apparently not as eventful as yours.



Her text confuses me. I look at Warren, who is walking out of the bathroom. “Did you tell Sydney about the argument last night?”

“Nope,” Warren says. “I haven’t talked to either one of them today. My guess is that they’re hungover and still in bed.”

My chest tightens because her text is unlike her.



Ridge: What do you mean?

Sydney: Check Instagram.



I immediately close out my texts to her and open Instagram. I scroll down until I see it.

Son of a bitch.

Maggie posted a picture of us. She’s making a silly face up at the camera and I’m next to her. In her bed. Asleep. The caption reads, “Haven’t missed his snoring.”

I fist my phone in both hands and pull it to my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut. This. This is why I should have stayed home.

I stand up. “Where’s Maggie?”

Warren nods toward the hallway and signs, “The laundry room.”

I walk to her laundry room and find her casually hanging up a shirt like she didn’t just try to sabotage my relationship with Sydney with her petty Instagram post. I hold up my phone. “What’s this?”

“A picture of you,” she says, matter-of-fact.

“I see that. But why?”

She finishes hanging up the shirt and then leans against her washing machine. “I also posted a picture of Warren. Why are you so mad?”

I roll my head and throw my hands up in frustration. I’m confused why she did it in the first place, and now I’m confused as to why she’s acting like it isn’t a big deal.

She pushes off her washing machine. “I didn’t realize we had rules to this friendship. I’ve posted pictures of all of us for six years. Are we catering our lives to Sydney now?” She tries to walk toward the door, but I step in front of it.