“I told you that you don’t need to thank me.”
Yoss frowned. “I’m thanking you not just for letting me stay with you. Though that’s more than you should be doing for me. I want to thank you for not…” He seemed to be at a loss for words.
He lifted his eyes, finding mine. Hanging on before he let go…
“For not letting me chase you away. I’ve become way too good at that.”
I crossed the room until I stood just in front of him. I could see how rapidly he was breathing. As if he had just run a marathon. His jaundiced skin stood out starkly in the darkened room. He looked tired, dark circles and blood shot eyes.
He seemed as though he was barely able to stand and I knew how hard all of this was for him. Not just physically. We were both going through an emotional ringer just by being here, together.
But it was worth it.
I had to think that.
I’d make him believe too.
I reached out and took his hand. He didn’t resist. His smile was exhausted. But it was real.
He moved closer. Magnets pulled together.
He cupped my cheek, his thumb running along the curve of my face. “You were better off without me, Imi,” he murmured. I opened my mouth to protest. To rage against this same old argument, but he went on before I could.
“But it’s obvious I have barely survived without you.”
My stomach flipped and rolled and I leaned in, letting my lips touch his. Unable to resist the connection between us that had always been there.
“Imi,” he whispered against my mouth, before pulling me against him with a force that left me breathless.
Then he was kissing me.
With passion. With anger. With regret.
With something that felt a lot like love.
His fingers tangled in my hair. My hands slid up his shirt. I pressed my palms against fevered skin, hating, yet loving the texture of his familiar scars, rough and rigid.
I could feel his ribs. Each one prominent. Too prominent.
But I was holding Yossarian Frazier.
The love of my young life.
Possibly the love of my whole life.
He pulled away and framed my face with his hands. Our noses brushed against each other. Breath mingling. Souls clashing.
“Imi,” he said my name again. Softer. Quieter. He sucked in air, as if he were drowning. He closed his eyes, bracing himself.
“I—”
He never finished his thought.
The doorbell rang.
It echoed through the house, startling us both. I let out a noisy sigh and Yoss opened his eyes, running his thumb along the curve of my lips. “I think you’d better get that,” he said as the bell chimed again.
Whoever it was, clearly wasn’t very patient. I ran a hand through my hair.
“Okay. I’ll just be a minute. It’s probably an encyclopedia salesman or something.”
Yoss raised an eyebrow. “Is that even still a thing?”
The doorbell chimed again and I bared my teeth. “They better hope they’re selling something good.” Yoss laughed and I hurried from the room.
I pulled open the front door in a huff of frustration, a frown on my face.
And froze.
“Sorry to come by so late,” Chris said, not looking the least bit apologetic.
Chris O’Neil.
My ex-husband.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, feeling the deadened weight of his presence press down on me.
I glanced over my shoulder; relieved Yoss had remained in the spare bedroom.
Chris walked past me and into the house, clearly still feeling as if he belonged there. How wrong he was.
“I tried calling you a few times but you didn’t answer,” Chris said by way of explanation for his unwanted presence.
I didn’t feel particularly antagonistic towards my former husband. Even with his pushiness and demanding personality, I could only ever feel guilt.
Because the situation we found ourselves in was mostly my fault.
I should never have married him in to begin with.
Chris had been a placeholder in my life.
So I couldn’t summon the will to be angry with him for barging into the house that up until six months ago had also been his.
“Sorry, I must have it on silent,” I explained, closing the door behind him, praying I could get him out of the house before he figured out I wasn’t alone.
“What’s the point of having a phone if you never answer it?” he chastised. An age-old criticism. One of many.
Okay, so maybe I did feel more than guilt about Chris.
Right then I was feeling a whole lot of relief that I was no longer tied to him in any way.
Because he was definitely a dick.
“I’ll make sure to put that on my screw up list,” I deadpanned.
Chris frowned, shoving his hands into his wool pea coat. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he remarked.
Of course he didn’t.
That was just Chris. He was callous and unfiltered.
Just as I had always been placid and unemotional.
We were a really horrible pair.
“It’s late, Chris. Why are you here?” I asked again, showing my growing impatience.