“Well, hello.” His tone bordered on giddy, and I smiled against his lips.
I ruffled his hair, flicked my head toward the bedroom. “Just be gentle, okay?”
And he was, his lips and tongue and fingers soft, and he paused to stamp my neck with kisses and ask, again and again, “Is this okay?” Every time I felt the faraway panic begin to flare, I watched his face, the uncomplicated kindness there, and breathed until it subsided. Breathed louder, harder, both of our breaths rhythmic and sultry, until all that existed was the feeling, deep and tender and raw.
After a freeze-frame of stillness, he slid his hand across the sweat on my back.
“That was amazing,” he murmured, and gave my ass a cheerful slap. He padded into the hallway, and I listened to the minor melody trickling out of the living room.
I slipped into a kimono and sat on the edge of the bed. I felt sexy and wild, and I congratulated my body on finally cooperating post-Cambodia. I smoothed my tangled hair and turned on a lamp, then headed for the bathroom as soon as I heard him come out. As I neared, the music abruptly dropped out, replaced by the handbell-like chime that signaled a new text.
I’d dropped my phone on the coffee table earlier, and now I flipped it over. I scanned the screen twice, my stomach scrunching and crumpling like a sheet of tinfoil.
Two missed calls from Kristen, ten and fourteen minutes ago, when Aaron and I were in bed.
And just now, a text: “I need you.”
CHAPTER 17
“Everything okay?” Aaron paused in the kitchen’s doorway, brow wrinkled.
I looked up. My brain skittered ahead: I should call her. Wait, no. She’d purposely said nothing. That meant it was about Cambodia or Chile—definitely not something I could discuss in front of Aaron.
Or, hell, on the phone at all.
“What is it?” He crossed to me and I dropped the phone to my side.
“It’s Kristen,” I said. “She’s— I’m so sorry to do this, but I have to go see her.”
“Now?” He shook his head. “Is she okay?”
I ached to tell him, to open my mouth and let the truth spew like poison. You were right about something happening in Chile. And in Cambodia, before that.
My arms crossed over my belly. “Yeah, she’s…going through something right now.”
“Oh right, she just got laid off.” I must’ve looked startled because he added, “Or something else? Sorry, I know it’s none of my business.”
“No, I’m sorry. To be all vague and to suddenly run out on you.” I looked around. “You can stay, if you want? Dunno how long I’ll be there.”
“That’s all right, I’ll head home.” Aaron lifted my chin and kissed me sweetly, his lips soft. “See you soon?”
A folding feeling in my chest, a desperate desire to blow Kristen off and sink back into his embrace. I pressed my eyes closed, steeled myself. “Of course.”
* * *
—
I called Kristen from a button on my steering wheel as soon as I got on the freeway, which I had all to myself at midnight on a school night. I need you. I flicked through the possibilities like a channel surfer: Something had happened with our Cambodian secret—maybe the body had been recovered, bloated and waterlogged, or someone had uncovered something in the hotel, some evidence we’d missed. Or—more likely—it had to do with Chile, the fresher cover-up, one that hadn’t yet stood the test of time.
Or maybe it was so much simpler than that. Maybe she was finally freaking out the way I had after Cambodia, without upheaval at work and her last-minute trip to Wisconsin to distract her. Maybe it was all sinking in—the attack, the dawning horror of what she’d done to defend herself, and all those nightmarish hours afterward. Aw, Kristen. My love for her oozed from my heart like an egg’s soft yolk.
“Hi!” She picked up right before it went to voicemail. She sounded…chipper.
“Kristen, hey. I’m on my way.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m coming over. I figured you…that isn’t what you meant?” I switched to the right lane and slowed.
“Oh, I had a stupid fight with Bill at dinner and then I couldn’t sleep and felt like talking. On the phone.”
The baseball stadium sparkled on the left; I was still closer to home than to Brookfield. “Got it! I totally overreacted. I thought you meant…like, you needed me.”
She laughed. “Girl, you know I always do!” A crunching sound. “Are you close? You can still come over! Sorry, I’m working my way through a bag of chips.”
I slid onto the off-ramp, deflated and—though I knew it wasn’t fair—irritated. “It’s so late, I better not. But what happened with Bill?”
“He was giving me shit about getting laid off. Zero sympathy. As if he has any idea how these things work—he inherited his dad’s company.” More munching. “I know you understand what the job market’s actually like for millennials.”
“Totally. I’m sorry, Kristen. That sucks. He just doesn’t get it.” Ugh, if I’d known she didn’t actually need me, I would’ve let Aaron spend the night—I wanted to text him, check if he’d consider heading back, but my phone wasn’t in its normal spot in the console. “And it’s keeping you awake? A job loss is…big. It merits grieving.”
“I’m not, though. Grieving. Screw Lucas and that godforsaken job.” She swallowed a mouthful of chips and her voice grew clearer. “It’s just weird not knowing what the future will hold. I guess that’s why I called you. You’re my rock.”
“I’m here for you,” I replied, suddenly guilty that I was only half listening—that part of my mind was focused on catching Aaron before he turned his phone off and climbed into bed. At a red light, I hunched and groped around the footwell on the passenger side.
“And it was so nice to catch up in Chile,” she went on, and I was so surprised my foot slipped off the brake. I whipped upright and flung my weight on the pedal. “All that uninterrupted conversation, you know? And, Em, I feel like we haven’t talked that much since. No Kremily dates.”
Kremily—I hadn’t heard that one since before she moved away, the cheesy portmanteau we’d made up at Northwestern （our friendship was, we figured, easily as legendary as Kimye or Speidi）。
“We definitely need some one-on-one time,” I said. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“Don’t worry about me, just hang out with me!” There was a giggle in her tone. “Tomorrow?”
“Crap, I can’t tomorrow.” I had therapy, and felt another spear of guilt that I was hiding this from her. But…but we’re all allowed to keep a few things private. “Friday?”
“Wait, what are we doing for your birthday on Thursday?”
“I’m…well, shoot. I made plans with Aaron before you were here. We’re just staying in—I don’t feel like doing anything huge this year.”
“Got it.” She sounded so sad, and a cringe went through me. I reminded myself that it was okay to have plans with my boyfriend. It was okay to not invite her too. But then her cheer rebounded: “？‘Nothing huge,’ noted. Yes, ma’am.”