“And this helps?” Because I doubt it.
“It does. I just say it, even if it’s awful, and I don’t judge it. Then I go and do the right thing. I know it sounds silly.”
“It does sound silly.”
She leans forward, almost teasing me with a look—but not quite because this is so hard, and she probably senses how close I am to doing something stupid.
“But you haven’t tried it,” she says. “What could it hurt? Try it. Just tell me what you want. No matter how bad it sounds. I promise I won’t judge it.”
“You don’t get to judge?”
“No, I don’t get to judge, but when you’re done, when it’s out of your system, we do the have-to thing. The right thing.”
“Okay. You want to hear what I want. Here goes. I want you to leave him and come to me. I’m not assigning right or wrong to it. I’m just telling you that every night when I’m in my bed alone, I keep hoping you’ll show up at my door. And you’ll tell me that I’m it for you. That nothing else is as important to you as I am. Because I’m saying that to you. I’m telling you that nothing else is as important to me as you are.”
It’s as close as I’ve come to confessing what’s getting harder to deny every day, to keep calling it something else, but I’m still not ready to say it, not with Zo holding all these cards. All of the advantages.
“Oh, Jared, I—”
“No, listen. I want you to leave him and come to me, but the irony is I want you so badly because you never would. Your heart, integrity, strength of character . . . they draw me to you.”
I pause to cup her face in my hands.
“And I . . .” I cough, clear my throat, and search for a word to settle on “. . . I care too much about you to corrupt that.”
She scoots in closer and wraps her arms around me, tucking her head under my chin. She’s so warm and soft and good and sweet, and she smells like her Pretty Pastel dryer sheets.
“I care about you, too, Jared,” she says softly. “If I could do what I feel is right and still be with you right now, I would. I hope you believe that.”
A distant ring robs me of my chance to answer. She scrambles to her feet, adjusting her yoga pants as she goes.
“That’ll be Maali,” she says, regret in her voice. “I have to catch this call. A couple of my guys have contracts on the bubble.”
She opens the pantry door, letting the world back in.
“Okay.” I haul myself to stand and follow her from the pantry and out of the kitchen.
“Give me a few minutes.” She looks at me from the foot of the stairs, her expression
uncertain. “Wait here?”
I nod my agreement and sit to stew in frustration. I tip my head back on the couch and try to evict images of him kissing her from my brain. I’m too tired, though, to exert that much mental energy, and I paint a full scene in my head with him touching her, taking her. A weary sigh is all I can manage. I wrapped up a shit ton of stuff so I could afford the day off up here. I just got on a plane. Didn’t call or ask in case she told me not to come. I’ve been going out of my mind missing her and being horny.
Okay. And jealous. Of a dying man. I know it’s insanity, but hearing that he actually kissed her brings my concerns to life.
“Jared.”
I open my eyes when my name is called. Zo is standing at the doorway leading down the hall. I fix my face, disguising my shock at how wasted away he has become. I’ve seen him on television and in a few photos since his diagnosis, but it’s been awhile. He’s still tall, of course, a few inches taller than I am, but he’s painfully thin. He holds a mask over the gauntness of his face and studies me with brows drawn together.
“Zo, hey.” I sit up, but assume with the mask, I shouldn’t get too close.
“Why are you here?” he asks with, unless I’m mistaken, some underlying hostility. I’m not usually mistaken about someone wanting to kick my ass. I pick up on that kind of thing.
“Uh . . . I just dropped off some papers.”
“From LA?” Skepticism and irritation clearly mark the visible half of his face.
“I was in town.” I shrug and lean forward, elbows on knees. “Hope it isn’t a problem.”