At least, he was.
I catch movement in the kitchen that I know is Christopher, broad and solid, dark bedhead waves sticking up. I smile, tugging off my headphones, prepared to call his name and say good morning.
But before I can, Christopher says to someone I can’t see, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I frown. He’s speaking quietly, but his voice echoes down the hall from the kitchen to the studio. Who is he talking to?
Jamie’s voice answers him. “I’m not looking at you like anything. I’m . . . surprised to see you. I didn’t think . . .” A heavy sigh. “I don’t know what I thought, and I don’t know what to make of you being here. I thought you were going to fix things with her, to make peace. That’s all we asked for.”
That’s all we asked for?
My ears start to ring. I know I should make my presence known. I know I’m eavesdropping. But I’m like an animal in the field, staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun, frozen, stunned.
Someone asked Christopher to “fix things”？ Why did he never say? Why does it sound like some grand arrangement was made to deal with me and the complications I apparently presented?
And why does it feel like I’m going to throw up?
I whimper, a sob climbing up my throat, tears stinging my eyes, but then I stop myself, shaking my head.
No. I won’t do this. I won’t skip ten steps and assume the worst. I won’t take a fragment of a conversation and fill it in with all my fears and insecurities.
I’m going to do what hasn’t been easy but has made a way for Christopher and me, cleared a path for us to finally live in the present, not twisted up in our past.
I’m going to communicate like a goddamn adult.
Once my ears stop ringing. And I can breathe properly.
I’m so focused on calming myself, I don’t hear what they continue saying down the hall, but I don’t want to.
I don’t want to hear Christopher explain and defend himself.
I don’t need proof of my belief that he cares for me deeply, that it wasn’t whatever plea my family, maybe even our friends, brought to him, that made Christopher’s heart see my hurt—it was my honesty, my truth, and his, too, that allowed us to truly see and choose each other.
We’re the ones who chose this.
And I choose to trust him. Which is why, now that my lungs work properly and my ears don’t sound like tiny foghorns are blasting inside them, I toss aside my laptop and headphones, wrench open the studio door, and march straight down the hallway toward the person who needs to hear that.
? THIRTY-EIGHT ?
Christopher
Jamie and I stand at odds for the first time in our friendship, and I hate nearly everything about it. It’s too damn early. I woke up to an empty bed without Kate. I’m starving for her and for a solid meal after having had no appetite last night after my migraine and not enough time with my hands and mouth on her, making her come.
The one redeeming part of this highly unpleasant moment is that Jamie’s grilling me because he feels responsible for how his request to sort things out with Kate could hurt the woman I love, and for that, I can’t fault him.
I just really want him to believe me and trust me.
“Jamie.” I take a slow deep breath. “I acknowledge that I made a commitment to smooth things over with Kate at your and Bill’s request, hell, even for poor lovesick Nick’s sake, but the farthest that got me was a few bruised toes at Tacos and Tangos, and a decision to keep my distance from her, which I clearly sucked at, given I lasted a week before I came around for game night and couldn’t leave her alone. That’s what led to . . . everything changing.
“Things changed when Kate told me how I’d hurt her. What she said wrecked me, and I swore to myself and her that I’d fix that. What came from that, where I am now, that’s the result. What you’re seeing, my being here, is born out of something that—no offense—has nothing to do with anyone but the two of us. Just please believe me when I say I would sooner die than ever willfully hurt Kate. She’s safe with me.”
Jamie exhales heavily and rubs the bridge of his nose. “God, I’m glad to hear that.”
“Do you believe me?”
He looks at me like I just asked if bananas are grown on Mars. “Of course I do. I just couldn’t not say something. If, even indirectly, accidentally, what I asked of you led to Bea’s sister being hurt—”
“You don’t need to explain. It means a lot to me that you care so much about her, that you’d come to me and make sure she’s safe.”