28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Now
When I get to work the next day, there’s a police car parked in the fire lane. I’m completely aware that it belongs to Quinton—that’s where he always parks when he comes by to see Sage—but I decide to be obnoxious anyway. When I walk through the front door, the bell above my head tinkling to announce my arrival, I call out, “Where’s the emergency?”
A woman browsing the produce looks up, startled. From her spot behind the counter, Sage waves her off. “No emergency,” she says cheerfully, and the woman goes back to her shopping.
“Maybe we should talk to the police department about not blocking the fire lane,” I tell Sage, studiously ignoring Quinton, who leans against the shelves of cigarettes beside her. In my peripheral version, I can see him leveling me with an unimpressed look. “You’d think they would teach them that in cop school.”
She motions for me to come closer, patiently waiting as I drag my feet across the floor. I stop in front of the counter, my arms crossed stubbornly over my chest. “Quinton wants to apologize,” she says quietly, keeping it between the three of us.
I look directly at Quinton for the first time. His jaw is tight. He gives no indication of intending to speak with me. Turning back to Sage, I ask, “Are you sure?”
Sage nudges him in the side. He casts an annoyed look in her direction, but when their eyes meet, I notice that his soften almost instantly. It reminds me of the way Theo looks at me. “I’m sorry, Nina,” he tells me. “I was wrong last night.”
“Do you really think that, or are you just saying what Theo and Sage told you to?”
He stutters, taken aback. “Uh—”
“I don’t need you to lie to me.” I reach over the counter to grab an apron from one of the hooks. “It’sa waste of everyone’s time.”
“No,” he says. “That’s not it. I’ve been worried about Theo, and—”
“Theo,” I interrupt, crossingthe apron strings around my front once before knotting them in the back, “is a grown man.”
Take it.
Use me.
I’m all yours.
I repress a shudder and try to extinguish thememory of Theo’s deep voice in my ear, egging me on as I writhed on his lap. I've relived the entire scene a milliontimes in the past sixteen hours; meanwhile, Theo seemed completely unaffected as we went back into town, got ice cream, and headed home. He spent most of the time talking about the clients who had been difficult that day, at one point pulling up pictures on his phone and asking my opinion about their yards. The quick brush of our fingers when I took the phone from him was the last time we touched.
No strings attached, he had promised.
I wasn’t expecting to feel so disappointed when he stuck to his word.
“I know,” Quinton tells me, and I force myself to focus back on the conversation at hand—which has nothing to do with me dry-humping Theo. “But you weren’t here. He wasn’t okay after you left. I don’t want to see that happen to him again.”
“I wasn’t exactly having the time of my life, either.”
“We know that,” Sage cuts in, with the tone of an impending but , and I realize too late that she isn’t here to mediate; this conversation is two against one, with nobody on my side. “We just... I mean, do you have a plan?”
“A plan?” I repeat dumbly.
“Yeah. Like, are you back for good?” asks Quinton. He has softened toward me today, but his tone still isn't friendly. “Or just passing through?”
I look between the two of them and can’t deny that they seem to be primarily concerned, not accusatory. All that concern is for Theo, and it’s not like they can be faulted for that—he's been in their lives, and I haven’t. Even so, there’s a little throb of hurt that comes with knowing that Quinton and Theo have both become more important to Sage than I am.
“The plan,” I say, “is to work here for a while, get on my feet, and figure out what’s next.”
“So you’re not staying,” Sage clarifies.
With a frustrated sigh, I shrug, throwing up my hands and letting them slap my thighs when they fall. “I really don’t know. But Theo is aware of all this, okay? I don’t know how to convince you guys to trust me. I’m not trying to take advantage of him. There aren't a lot of other places for me to go, but I could have figured something else out if I had to. I told him that. He insisted I stay here.”
“Well, yeah,” Sage says. “Of course he did. He’s still in love with you.”
“No.” I don’t mean to sound so sharp. “No, he’s not.”
She glances at Quinton, who hitches his thumbs in his belt and regards me coolly. “She’s right.”
I put my hands up, palms out, warding off their words, even as my brain presents me with a hasty slideshow of everything Theo told me last night. The company. His refusal to bring anyone home to his parents—to date seriously at all. Even things he hasn’t addressed with me directly: the house, the star in his logo, the photos in his living room. It all comes together to create a picture that I refuse to look directly at.
“All we’re saying,” Sage continues as the blood begins to pound in my ears, “is that if you leave again, it’s going to destroy him.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Mercifully, the radio hooked on her apron string crackles, and Judith’s voice comes through the static. “Is Nina here yet?”
Sage picks up the radio. “She’s right here.”
“Send her to me, would you? I need help with this truck.”
I’ve never been so thankful for an interruption. I turn on my heel, not bothering to say anything to either of them as I head to the back.
The truth I don't want to face—that I don't even want to think about—is that leaving mightdestroy me, too.
***
That evening, I’m already drinking a beer and eating Red Vines on the back patio when Theo gets home. He emerges from the house with two beers inhand, one for each of us, as has become our after-work custom. My heart immediately kickstarts at the sight of him, but he continues to appear alarmingly unaffected by the fact that I recently orgasmed on his thigh. When he sees my bottle already sweating on the table, he raises his eyebrows. “You got started early.”
“That’s because I’m pissed off.”
He winces and comes to sit beside me on the wicker couch, holding out a hand. “Yeah. Quinton called.”
“He gave me the most half-assed apology I’ve ever received in my life.” I slap a Red Vine into his palm with a soft thwack . “Which is saying something, because you know who was literally incapable of a sincere apology?”
“Daniel?”
“Bingo.” I pick up the bag and peer inside. Damn —it's almost empty. I’ll need to buy more when I’m at work tomorrow. It’s amazing how quickly these have become a staple in my diet again. “Anyway, I hope you’re not offended that I refuse to take responsibility for you being a bad friend to Quinton.”
“Not at all.”
“Good.”
Theo relaxes into the opposite corner of the couch, letting his knees fall open a little. The position immediately brings me back to last night, and I turn away, afraid of what he might see in my face. We sip on our beer and listen to the birds and cicadas. The alcohol saturates my bloodstream enough that I start to relax a bit—at least, until Theo breaks our somewhat comfortable silence with, “Did they say anything else that bothered you?”
Since it’s obvious he already knows what they said, I don’t bother responding.
He sighs, sounding frustrated. “You don’t need to worry about me, Nina. I think you’re doing the right thing by focusing on yourself right now. Whatever you decide, I’ll be fine.”
“Will you?” I ask, because I’m starting to feel dizzy from the task of trying to square Theo’s life with mine. They were so inextricably linked for so long, and I’ve come to realize that they still are—I just need to figure out how. “The things I’ve heard from your mom, and now Quinton and Sage... even the stuff you said last night, about why you started the company. You’re really going to pretend that you wouldn’t care if I left again?”
“Wouldn’t care ?” he repeats, incredulous, and sits up straight, both feet flat on the ground. “Of course I’d fucking care. But if staying here isn’t going to make you happy, then that’s not what I want for you.”
I sit up, too, turning on the couch so one of my legs is curled beneath me. An entire cushion separates us, which is good; otherwise, I might be tempted to do something stupid. Again.
“So what would make you happy?” I ask.
His eyes flash with surprise, and then understanding. “I’m happy,” he says carefully, “when the people I love are nearby, healthy, and taken care of. Which means that over these past couple weeks, I’ve been doing pretty damn well.”
Of course that would be his answer; of course he would mean it. Theo is the best man—the best person —I've ever known. His drive, his selflessness, his constant consideration for the people around him, and his loyalty—few could live up to that character, least of all me. And yet, somehow, I was the one who was lucky enough to grow up by his side. To be loved by him. To have him here, waiting for me, after all this time.
Emotion swells suddenly in my chest, and my vision blurs before I know what’s happening.I duck my head, trying to hide, but it’s too late.
“Honey.” Theo sounds alarmed. “Honey, honey, hey.”
“I’m fine.”
“You can cry.” He scoots close, our knees bumping, and curls his big hands beneath my elbows. I resist when he tugs me toward him; on the second attempt, I give in, falling against his chest as he wraps me up in his strong arms. “Got you. I got you. It’s okay to cry, Nina.”
I can’t remember the last time I let myself.
But out here on Theo’s back patio, surrounded only by green fields and him, Ilet thetears break free, let them roll down my cheeks, and I think it’sthe most honest I’ve ever been in front of another person in a long, long time.The logo on his polo is right beside where my head rests; I raise my right hand to trace the star over the i.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
His hand curls around the back of my head. “For what?”
"For not calling after those first few days. For staying away so long."
He lets out a breath that fans over my neck and shoulder, giving me goosebumps. "It's okay, Sass."
"And I'm sorry for spending so much time being angry with you because I convinced myself you didn't care."
At that, Theo tenses up for a second; then he threads his fingers through my hair, keeping my head tucked close against him, and that's how I know I've said the right thing. "Thank you."
I use his shirt to wipe my eyes. The blur around me becomes a little clearer. "And…"
"And? "
"And I'm sorry for being super horny and getting myself off on your leg."
This apology is met with silence. My cheeks are already burning, but I force myself to sit up to look into his face—only to find him grinning.
"What?" I demand, even as I feel the corners of my own mouth rising.
His grin grows, his shoulders beginning to shake. When he bursts out laughing, I join in, wiping away the last of my tears.
"That," he says, "you don't need to apologize for."