He sat down beside me,putting his bedtime on the backburner, and asked, “Can I tell you somethingthat might make me the worst man on the planet?”
“You can tell meanything.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed,working through the column of his throat, as he nodded. “I’m so afraid to loveyou more.” I didn’t need to clarify what he meant. I already knew. “I know thatsounds horrible, and maybe it’s just that this … You and me … It’s different. Ithink because … she was my first love, and I was so young when we met, I neverhad a chance to find out what I really wanted. I’ve changed since I wasnineteen though, I’ve grown a lot, I know what I want in a partner, and if I’mbeing honest, I don’t know if I would’ve picked her at this point in my life.”
I struggled not toreact, to not notice the way he wasn’t saying her name. “Where is this comingfrom?”
He chuckled, the soundlow and gruff. “It’s just that … you asked. She never did.”
I shook my head,lifting my lips in a rueful smile. “Jon, you shouldn’t compare …”
He held up a hand,stopping me from continuing. “I’m not, I promise. It’s just an observation. Idon’t care for her any less because she never asked. She was typically moreabout the bigger picture, and less about the little things, and I’m theopposite.” He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t be tellingyou any of this. Is that a new relationship no-no or something?”
“I think I’mgrandfathered in at this point,” I replied, returning the laugh and smilinginto his eyes.
“Anyway, what I’msaying is, I love that you cared to ask.”
And then, grasping myhand, he continued, “It goes back to my grandparents on my mom’s side. When mymother was a teenager, my grandfather became very sick with cancer. Theprognosis waspretty awful, and even though he’d neverbeen a bad man by any stretch of the imagination, I guess the reality of hismortality hit him hard. So, he started the ‘tell me you love me and tell megoodnight’ thing, and he said it to my grandmother and mom every night beforebed. Because he figured, if he passed away in his sleep, he’d at least had achance to remind them once more how he felt.” Jon shrugged and tipped his head,inclining a little closer to me and said, “And goodnight is a lot less finalthan goodbye.”
I couldn’t help myself;my eyes welled up and I covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh, God, that’s sosad.”
“Yeah,” he agreedsomberly. “Buthe actually went intoremission and lived for another twenty-something years. The cancer eventuallydid come back when I was eight, and he died when I was ten. But it’s because ofhim that my family continues to say it, and that copy ofThe Phantom Tollbooththat I have? He gave that to me for my ninthbirthday.” As my eyes began to leak, he somehow smiled and said, “Everythinghappens for a reason.”
“Some things are toohorrible to have a reason,” I found myself saying, playing the Devil’s advocatein a moment where my heartachedand I missed mygrandmother horribly.
Jon nodded slowly. “Iused to think so, too.”
“Oh, yeah?” I scoffed.“What changed your mind?”
He sighed, leanedforward, and kissed my cheek. Then, with his lips against my ear, he whispered,“I met you.” Before I could reply, he kissed me again, this time on my mouth.He stood up and headed to the bedroom door, and before disappearing behind it,said, “Remember, wake me up when you come to bed.”
I nodded to the back ofhis head. “I will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
JON
I’m so afraidto love you more.
That one littleadmission kept me awake an hour after I’d closed the door, leaving Tess to herwriting in the kitchen. I had laid down to go to sleep, tired and ready, butthe muse was screaming louder than my desire for rest. I turned on the lightand grabbed my notebook from the table next to the bed.
I thought about it now,on our way to Connecticut; the lyrics I had jotted down. None of the songs I’dwritten felt like perfection from the start, but this one … I felt a confidencein it that I never had before.
Tess stirred againstme, her head lolling gently against my shoulder. She had come to bed later thanshe’d expected and I had to wake her up only a few hours later. It’d made for asleepy car ride.
“Are we there yet?” shemumbled.
I snorted. “You soundlike the kids.”
“Ha-ha.” She lifted herhead and rolled her head from one shoulder to the other, stretching her neckand yawning. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping this entire ride.”
“That’s accurate,” Ilaughed, laying my hand against her thigh. “But to answer your question, we’llbe there in a few minutes. And you can sleep at the hotel, if you’re stilltired.”
Devin had offered tolet us stay at his place again, but I thought a quiet night’s rest at a hotelwas a better call. Away from kids. Away from normal,every daylife.
“Is it bad that I’m solooking forward to sleeping in a hotel tonight?” Tess flopped her head backagainst the car seat and laughed.
“You?” I laughed so hard, I snorted, and then I laughed even harder.“I love my kids more than life, but good Lord, I’m scared I won’t want tocheck-out tomorrow.”
