29. Travis

travis

. . .

Two Weeks Later

C ass hasn’t left our room in two weeks. The first day, I didn’t think much of it. Adrenaline crash. By the fifth day, I began to see the signs; my girl is struggling, and there’s nothing I can do to help. Her physical health has improved significantly, but her mental health is the worst I’ve ever seen it. She’s used to keeping herself busy, but without work to keep her feelings at bay, they’ve bubbled up to the surface. Most days she’s sleeping, and there’s nothing I can do to help but be here for her.

As predicted, I’m suspended for insubordination, without pay for the rest of the month. With the insurance claim pending on the shop, and neither of us having income for the holidays, our families have offered to help. I have a nest egg, and we’ll be okay, but I appreciate them offering.

Ingrid is supposed to stop by later today so I can continue work on my surprise project for Cass. I don’t think my girl would do anything drastic if left unattended, but I can’t risk it, not after I almost lost her.

There’s a knock at the door, and I kiss Cass on the forehead before sliding off the bed. “It’s probably Ingrid, I’ll be right back.”

As I make my way to the front door, there’s a jiggle of a key in the lock and I complete the turn, opening it before whoever is on the other side can unlock it. “Christ, Travis, you scared me,” Ingrid laughs, pulling her keys from the lock and placing them in her bag. “Damn, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping?”

I rub the back of my neck and answer honestly, “Not well.”

“Are you sure you want to work on it today?” Ingrid steps inside and kicks off her shoes at the front door. “Want me to call Pop or your dad and see if they can come help? Cay has the kids, otherwise he could stop by.”

“Honestly, maybe it would help having the kids and her family here. Inferno is used to regular playdates with Smitten, and he hasn’t seen her in over a week. I… I don’t know what to do, Ingrid. I love her so much, but I feel helpless.”

She places her hand on my shoulder, and with a soft smile insists, “You’re doing everything you can. Just like Caleb had a hard time when he came off his ship, Cass is struggling. She was in a fire a few short weeks ago. It’s going to take time. You’re right, family helps. Text Pop and Cay, maybe even your dad—she loves him.”

Is that what she needs? Family? Am I not enough? I’m supposed to be her family, her rock, her person. But if it brings back my girl, I’ll do anything. “Okay. Are you sure she won’t be overwhelmed?”

“She might be, but she can stay in her room. The point is to show her we’re all here for her. It’s Sunday, we’ll put on a football game, I’ll make her favorite queso, and if she comes out to socialize, great. If not, that’s okay too. We’ll keep trying. ”

I blow out a long breath. “Thank you. I’ll text everyone and get started outside.”

Ingrid gives me a quick hug and makes her way to the bedroom. There's a faint, “Hey, bitch, I’m here,” before the door clicks shut. I send a quick text to everyone in a group chat, then pull up my plans for the trailer. It’s ninety percent done but the finishing touches will be the hardest.

As I’m securing a bookcase, Cay snickers from the trailer entry. “And here I thought the chick cave thing was just a joke.”

When I was gifted the house, my first purchase after the bedside tables was a 1964 silver bullet trailer I spotted while we were antiquing in Linton. After scouring the internet for inspiration, I gutted it, and it’ll be the perfect place for Cass to escape that’s only hers.

Every renovation I’ve done, I’ve had her in mind, knowing without a doubt that one day this would be ours together. In the spring, we’ll plant flowers and vegetables, but this trailer will be a space that’s uniquely hers year-round. When we’re old as fuck, we’ll sit on the porch, watching our great-grandkids play in the garden, chasing and playing with a dog or two. It was always supposed to be me and Cass. Now, more than ever, I want to show her how much she’s loved—the grand gesture she deserves.

I don’t address Cay, continuing my work. He holds the bookcase up as I drill in the anchor. Two more to go. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t force me to open up as we finish putting up the last of the shelving. Once the final one is secure, I finally ask, “Where are the kids?”

“Inside with Pop. They wanted to help, but I told them they had to wait until everything was ready. ”

I glance around. The burgundy lounge chair is nestled in the corner with a reading lamp, the custom oak end table is ready for her wine glass, her daybed is made, complete with throw pillows and extra blankets. The only thing missing is her books on the shelves. “Can you bring the books from the spare bedroom and supervise the kids putting them on the shelves? There’s something I need to do while you’re all here.”

“Of course,” he replies without hesitation, and we make our way back into the house.