Maybe my body won’t die from spilling my feelings to this woman, but my ego is kicking and screaming like it’s being dragged to the gallows.
I wait, every muscle tense, my gaze trained on her face. What is taking her so fucking long?
“Gideon.” She whispers my first name, and I jolt. I can’t recall the last time I heard her use it on its own without full-naming me like you do with people you knew in school. When her eyes lift, they’re shiny. “Thank you.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and my voice comes out harsh. “Torres, don’t. For God’s sake, don’t thank me.”
But she rounds the coffee table to kneel beside me on the sofa cushions. The cat is gone, having leaped up when Torres grabbed the notebook, which she now tosses aside.
“I needed that.” She speaks softly, winding her arms around my neck. Her chest presses against mine as she hugs me. “I needed to know it wasn’t me.”
I hesitate for just a second, then wrap myself around her, inhaling her scent as I close my eyes. “It was never your fault.”
“I know. I told myself that, but ... it helps to hear it.”
“I really am sorry.”
“It’s in the past.” She rests her head on my shoulder, and something within me, a tension I’ve been carrying for what feels like forever, eases slightly.
Maybe I don’t deserve her grace. But I soak it in all the same.
After a moment, she leans back. “You still have beautiful handwriting.”
“You remember my handwriting?”
A soft smile plays on her lips. “I remember a lot about you.”
She says it like she’s not only referencing the bad shit. I lean my head toward her. “It only took fourteen years, but I finally got to dance with you at a Christmas party.”
Her eyes warm. “I’m glad we did. Tonight was nice.”
“Nice?” I can’t help but smirk. “You call what we did against your doornice?”
“Notthat. That was ...” She sounds flustered as she stops to blow out a breath. “That was way more than nice. At the club, I mean. Fern left early, and even though I know her friends, it wasn’t the same. And since I’m skipping Christmas this year, it was good to have company.”
My brow furrows. “Why are you skipping Christmas? Not a fan?”
“No, I love Christmas. It’s my favorite time of year.”
“Then why?”
She picks up her mug and takes a small sip. “I’m not sure if you heard, but my parents passed away three years ago.”
I’m sure my shock is evident on my face, and without planning to, I clutch her free hand. “Oh, shit. I had no idea. Both of them?”
She nods. Her gaze falls to her lap, but her fingers squeeze mine. “Car accident. Coming back from our beach house in Jersey.”
“Torres, I ... That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. That must have been really hard.” There are no appropriate words for this level of tragedy. The hole that has lived inside me since my father’s death echoes, as if resonating with the chasm that must live within her.
“Thanks.” She gives a little shrug, but I see the pain mirrored in her eyes. “Itwashard. But I wasn’t alone. I had Everett, and Fern, and their parents. Heather and Patrick already felt like family, and they were going to be my in-laws. I leaned on them a lot.”
I can guess where this is going. “But now that you and Mulholland ...”
“Right. Even though we’re not together anymore, his mom still wants me to do all the holiday stuff with them.”
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t particularly want to be alone, but I don’t want them to feel obligated to include me, you know?”
