“I know. Let me fix it.”
A small smile creeps across my face and he doesn’t miss the sadness in the gesture. His eyes go wide, his face pale, and I think he’s going to lunge at me and hold me against him. A part of me wouldn’t object, but I don’t get the choice because he doesn’t move.
“There isn’t some magic button that can fix this,” I point out.
“I can’t take it back now. I can’t make this un-public,” he groans. “What do I fucking do? What do you want me to do?”
The lines of his face shine in the sun streaming through the window. I see every crease, every line of stress, every pinch of frustration in his handsome face. My lips want to press against the wrinkles, my hands crave to smooth out his anxiety, but I hold back.
“I want you to give me some time to think about this.”
“Why?” he says, his voice now touched with irritation. “You said you know I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“That’s true. But that doesn’t mean this didn’t just change the game for me.”
“This isn’t a fucking game,” he barks.
“No, it isn’t.” My voice stays calm as I watch him pace again. “But it is exactly, unequivocally what I didn’t want. It would’ve been different if the article was right, and people knew who I was and gave me space. Now they’ll look at me like I’m pathetic, and I refuse to be made the laughingstock of another city because of a man.”
“No one is laughing at you,” he gulps. “They’re laughing at me.”
A heavy breath leaves my lips. “The timing of this also makes me worried. Am I going to get asked about it or mocked because—”
“You better fucking not.”
We face each other, the room pushing us closer, but we both fight it. Me out of self-preservation, him out of manners. The clock on the wall ticks softly and every second we stand there feels like an hour.
His chests rises and falls, his lips falling open as his breathing quickens. His nostrils flare just a bit as he bites down and the muscle in his jaw clenches.
“I need to pick Hux up from school,” I say quietly. “He has a dentist appointment.”
“We haven’t finished talking.”
“We have to be finished for now,” I say, forcing myself to turn away from him. On some level, I’m grateful for the excuse to get away. I need to think.
“When can I see you again?”
I pick up my purse off the chair. The papers sit inches away and I make myself not look at them.
He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “If you want time to think about this, I get it. I’ll give you that.”
“I need to make sure this is something I can handle,” I gulp. “All of a sudden, this just got very real.”
His arms come around my waist from behind and I sink back into his chest. I breathe in his cologne and let it carry me away from reality for a few seconds.
“It was always real to me,” he whispers and kisses the top of my head.
Alison
I CURL MY FEET UNDER me and look up at the stars. The moon is bright and high in the sky, yet the air chilly.
I tug the blanket closer to my body and look at Lola sitting on the other side of the patio furniture. She picks up the bottle of cheap wine and offers me more. I motion for her to fill it up.
“You’ve had three glasses,” she points out, having grabbed some sort of logic on the way over after my frantic call when Huxley went to sleep. “You’re a lightweight. We’d better cut you off.”
“Don’t even start making sense now, Lo. This is not the time.”
She laughs and tosses the now-empty bottle into the trashcan by the door. It hits the bottom with a thud.
“So . . .” She waits on me to stop talking about the research paper I finished tonight and about my early shift at Hillary’s. I’ve discussed why my oil needs changed in my car and how I’m suddenly craving hummus. Anything and everything has been toyed with tonight, except the reason I called her, a reason we both know.
“So . . .” I heave a breath, not sure how to bring it up or what part to bring up or if I even want to bring it up to start with. What I wanted was to not be alone with my thoughts.
“What happened after I left?” she asks carefully. “Did things go okay?”
I nod and down the rest of the wine in my glass.
“Why do I think you’re lying? No, strike that—why do I know you’re lying?”
“I don’t know, maybe because I’m drinking wine like a fish?”
“Good point.”
I sigh and rest my head on her shoulder, the low alcohol content in the inexpensive wine finally adding up to enough percentage to dull my senses. My thoughts aren’t so jammed. They’re clearer if not a little muddled, which makes no sense and all the sense in the world.
“He said he was sorry. He swore to me he didn’t know the statement was going to say that, and the other article about the baby was a shocker.” I shake my head. “No, not a shocker. He knew it was happening, just not today.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah.”