Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Sun Tower #3)

28. Raees

28

Raees

I ’m home by midnight.

The evening ended as predictably as it began: poorly.

I spent the better part of an hour driving in purposeless circles around the city before resigning myself to texting Zinneerah to say I was on my way home. She didn’t reply, which likely means she’s already asleep. Sensible of her since she has practice in the morning.

I, on the other hand, have classes to teach. How I’m going to summon the dignity to face a roomful of students—students who’ve just started to like me—after tonight’s entirely valid outburst is a dilemma for future-me.

Present-me is too busy sulking in the driveway, holding a cup of chocolate pretzels for my wife that I bought after spending thirty minutes trying to calm myself down in the arena’s bathroom.

I sit in the car for a few minutes, forehead pressed to the steering wheel like a penitent. My face still stings from the thirty rounds I spent scrubbing it. Soap can clean a face; it can’t erase the mortification of memory. Trust me, I’ve tested this hypothesis thoroughly.

This is exactly why I hate going out.

The entire thing was doomed from the start.

Anywhere with Saira is an emotional minefield, and I have the scars to prove it. She thrives on the kind of attention that leaves everyone else ducking for cover. She’s impulsive, inconsiderate, oblivious to the inner lives of anyone but herself. Even when we were together, she had this tiresome habit of answering questions on my behalf: Oh, Raees doesn’t like rollercoasters. Raees isn’t really a party person. Raees only reads pretentious old classics.

All perfectly engineered to present me as boring, aloof, and insufferable in the eyes of others.

Well, that’s the answer. That’s why I stopped trying.

Somewhere along the line, I convinced myself I’d become a man whose presence would add no life to a party, no thrill to an amusement park, and no debate to even the most niche of book clubs. I’ve spent so long in her shadow, craning my neck to stare up at her brilliance, that I’ve gone blind. Squinting at the light for so long, I stopped recognizing myself altogether.

Tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight, I was going to prove that I could stand on my own two feet, that I could speak to someone other than an audience of students. I wanted to make Ramishah proud; to show her I could forge a connection that wasn’t built on lecture notes and office hours. I even thought, foolishly, that I might enjoy myself as per Zinneerah’s request.

A laughable notion, really.

Now here I sit, glasses in hand, grinding my palms into my eyes as though I can physically press the embarrassment out of my skull.

Deep breaths, Raees. In and out.

I have no idea how I managed to drive for three hours with another panic attack rattling my bones. There were fleeting moments where the thought occurred to me: just swerve into traffic, let it end there. Or park at the edge of some cliffside beach and stare down into the abyss below.

Down, down, down.

I’m thirty-five, but tonight, I feel horribly close to my eighteen-year-old self.

With a sharp sniff, I reach for a tissue, wiping my eyes forcefully, then attack the streaks on my cheek like they’re stains I can scrub away. The sweater, now contaminated by Giovanni’s relentless smacking, has officially become collateral damage. Off it goes.

My car door creaks open, and I’m met with the symphony of crickets and the occasional Doppler whine of a car speeding toward somewhere else.

I pause outside the front door, filling my lungs with the crisp night air as though oxygen might somehow restore my composure.

With a quick swipe under the eyes, though I suspect no one is awake to notice, I step inside.

Zinneerah sits halfway up the staircase.

“Fuck!” My heart leaps in my chest before I regain myself, exhaling sharply. “Oh, my god.” My hand tightens on the door handle, and I let out a strained chuckle. “Zinneerah, you scared me.”

She doesn’t respond. A blank canvas where I’d hoped to find some hint of what she’s thinking.

Then, her fingers lift: Come here.

I close the door behind me, kick off my shoes, and ascend the staircase, sitting one step below her. My legs stretch out in front of me, ankles crossed, a forced attempt at nonchalance I don’t feel. “I brought you those chocolate pretzels you like. They’re a bit cold now.”

Zinneerah takes the cup and sets it aside, singing, Thank you.

“I’ve never sat here before. It’s not bad. A bit comfortable, actually.” I lean back, letting my head rest against the wall. The temptation to bang it there rises, but I resist. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t wait up for me. Why aren’t you in bed?”

Just stare, stare, staring.

Finally, she tilts her head, her dark eyes softening. She raises her hand, and I catch sight of red indentations carved into her fingerprints from the grooves of her guitar strings.

When her soft hand touches my cheek, I dissolve.

What’s wrong? I sign back, caught somewhere between words and the threat of breaking. Did you see it?

She nods.

Of course, she saw it. Of course. The game was on—the same game she’d been watching with her friends. She had to sit at home and watch my ex-fiancée kiss my cheek, live , in front of hundreds of people. Thousands, maybe. By now, the clip has undoubtedly made its way online, circulating through every corner of the internet. If I end up in one of those obnoxious compilation videos, I swear to God, I’ll personally walk into YouTube’s headquarters and demand every last trace of that footage be erased.

But none of that matters right now.

What matters is my wife.

“Zinneerah.” I squeeze my eyes shut. My knees bend, elbows sinking onto them as I rake my fingers through my hair, gripping tight enough to sting. “I didn’t know she’d do that. I didn’t—God, I tried to leave. To step away from it. If you saw it, if you watched—” The stones gathering in my throat cut me off.

A light tap on my knee pulls me back.

I open my foggy eyes, meeting hers. I told you not to have too much fun , she signs, her lips curled up in a wry, fractured smile.

“ Fun ? That’s the last word I’d use,” I whisper, head shaking. “It was awful. Everyone wanted something from me, but when I was there, none of them cared to see me.” My hand gestures vaguely, words faltering. “I know everything about them—how many kids they have, which of their teachers traumatized them in high school, their goddamn golf handicaps.”

My wedding ring catches against my knuckle as I twist it back and forth. “And maybe it’s my fault,” I mumble, staring at the floor. “Maybe I should’ve tried harder. Made more of an effort. That’s what keeps playing in my head—that if I’d spoken up, if I’d just pushed through, I could’ve stopped freezing like some awkward idiot.” I rub my hand over my face, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I wish I could take it back. Reverse everything. Stay home and watch Wall-E with you instead.”

Zinneerah huffs a soft, pitiful chuckle. Do not push yourself to make other people happy , she signs. You are perfect the way you are.

She inches her sleeve down to cover her palm, then gently dabs at my cheeks. Her gaze doesn’t waver as her hands form the next words. A friend to all is a friend to no one. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. I don’t want the same for you.

All I can give her is a smile. “Your friends are great. I appreciate when Alex lights up in my presence. It’s adorable.”

They only have great things to say about you. Your looks most of the time. She purses her lips. J-U-L-I-E-T-T-E is convinced you’re Superman.

I chuckle, tipping my head back. Somehow, just looking at Zinneerah clears my head. The migraine that’s been clawing at me all night loses its battle against my wife’s presence.

We just . . . stare at each other. It’s not like her to hold eye contact for this long. It isn’t her first language, nor her second or third. A year and a half of knowing one another, and this feels like the first time she’s truly letting me see her.

And she looks incredibly at home.

I plant my fist on my chest, and circle it slowly. I’m sorry.

Her hand brushes my shoulder. Not your fault , she signs. Then she stands, handing me the pretzels with a smile. Sleep now.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Goodnight.”

She nods, already halfway up the stairs, and I let myself stand using the banister.

But then she stops, turning just enough for me to notice.

Trepidation rises in my chest. Is she holding back her frustration? Is she about to tell me she’s not okay with what happened? That she needs time, or worse—distance?

I step closer, gripping the railing. “Zinneerah.”

She pauses, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath.

I move closer, gripping the railing, unsure of what’s coming but needing her to say something.

She turns to look over shoulder, a smile on her lips.

“Raees,” she says— says . “I trust you with my whole entire heart.”

Before I can recover, she disappears upstairs, leaving me standing there like an idiot with my mouth half-open.