The first night
The vast darkness expanded before them, the highway stretching for miles as they sped toward the shoreline, Brock in the driver's seat, one hand planted firmly on Reba's thigh. If he could touch her, he knew she was still there with him, unharmed and in one piece. He'd endured hours of silence, then tears, and finally laughter as he'd found an old CD and sang along to it, finally garnering a sideways glance from his ex wife as she cracked despite herself. He didn't know what to do with her, except get her far away from Houston and her new reality.
Barbara Jean said she'd take the kids, and as much as they wanted to be with their mother, Reba was in no shape to take care of her children. When Brock saw her at the hospital, covered in blood and bruises, crumpled in the hospital bed, it was a very real fear that she'd never care for their children again. Now, all he wanted to do was take care of her; protect her from a world that somehow seemed much larger and scarier than it had even ten hours before.
Brock hadn't expected to be wakened at 1:30 in the morning by the phone ; especially not because Reba had been in an accident. Reba never went out, and if she did she never stayed out that late. Between the two of them she was the responsible one. It wasn't lost on him that he was the first person she'd called from the scene. He wasn't sure what to do with it yet; he was still shocked she was in one piece, sitting next to him at all. Thoughts raced through his mind; practical ones, like where they'd sleep, how he'd get a double queen room at the last minute at the beach in July, who'd cover for him at the office in the morning, if Reba would need to speak to the police beyond the formal report she'd already made. He risked taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at her before he felt her tense, wondering just how different their new normal really would be. Some not so practical ones raced through his mind too, like the day he'd met her, the day he realized he loved her; what their family would've done if the call last night had turned out any differently.
"Stop lookin' at me like that, Brock," she muttered, but slid her hand under his anyway, aching to feel the warmth of his protection. Six hours ago they were normal. Divorced, bickering about who was going to pay for Jake's fall sports bill, if they'd endure another miserable family vacation together with Brock's current wife, fighting about whether Brock would watch their son and grandchild on Friday night so Reba would go out on a date. That was what had prompted Reba calling Loriann for dinner in the first place; Loriann was always the first person Reba called when she was mad at her ex husband. Brock told her not to go out Lori Ann, and she ignored it. Perfectly normal.
They'd been to dinner a million times when she was mad at Brock; her best friend hated him so much it was great therapy. She'd watched Lori Ann knock back a bottle of wine a million times. They'd, stupidly, driven home a million times. How could she - they - have been so stupid? Reba closed her eyes as she felt a new wave of emotions wash over her, threatening to spill from her eyes again.
Brock tightened his grip on her hand and sighed quietly, wondering exactly what was happening in her mind. "Look at you like what? I'm just..."
"Just what?" She snapped, a little harder than she meant to. Reba was always quick to anger when she was scared, and Brock was always the first person at which she directed that anger. "I'm sorry."
"I'm just glad you're here to snap at me like that, that's all." Brock's cool, measured tone infuriated her, but she let it go in favor of staring out the window again, trying to forget the scene playing out in her head. She cuddled deeper into the gray sweatshirt Brock had brought her at the hospital, Texas emblazoned across the chest in burnt orange, his cologne still strong on the crew collar. How many nights had she grabbed that same sweatshirt out of the closet to sleep in when they still shared a room? Why was Brock the only person she wanted tonight? Reba closed her eyes, torn between hysteria and exhaustion, and tried to swallow the lump threatening to resurface in her throat.
