Текст книги "The Wall of Winnipeg and Me"

Автор книги: Mariana Zapata

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

Aiden opened the door completely and slipped inside, his eyes sweeping across the room briefly before landing back on me sitting on the edge of my bed. His eyebrows scrunched together as he witnessed what I wasn’t trying to hide. His mouth depressed into a frown. One of his hands went up to reach behind his head, and I tried to ignore the bunched biceps that seemed to triple in size at the action. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his gaze swept over my face once more. “We need to talk.”

Once upon a time, all I’d wanted was for him to talk to me. Now, that wasn’t the case. “You should really be spending time with Leslie while he’s here.”

Those big biceps flexed. “He agreed I should come up here and talk to you.”

I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the tightness in them. “You told him we got into a fight?”

“No. He could tell something was off without me saying anything.” Those massive hands dropped to his sides. “I wanted to talk to you last night.”

But I’d ignored his knock. I made a vague noise. What was the point in lying when I’m pretty sure he was well aware of the fact I’d been awake then?

Aiden fisted his hands for a moment before bringing them back to cross his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

I wasn’t remotely impressed by his directness and I was sure my face said that.

In true Aiden fashion, he didn’t let my expression deter him from what he’d come to say. “I don’t like things hanging over my head, and if you and I are going to have a problem, we’re going to talk about it. I meant what I told you in your apartment. I do like you as much as I like anyone. I wouldn’t have come to you for all of this if I didn’t. You always treated me as more than just the person who paid your check and I see that now. I’ve seen it for a while, Van. I’m not very good at this crap.” Did he look uncomfortable or was I imagining it? I wondered. “I’m selfish and self-centered. I know that. You know that. I bail on people all the time.” He had a point there. He did. I’d witnessed it firsthand. “I get it, you’re not that kind of person. You don’t go back on your word. I… I didn’t think you’d care if I didn’t go,” he said carefully.

I opened my mouth to tell him that no one liked being bailed on, but he trudged on before I could.

“But I understand, Van. Just because people don’t complain to my face when I do it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t piss them off, all right? I didn’t mean to be an asshole downstairs. I only wanted to make sure you made it back fine and you weren’t going to kill me in my sleep for flaking out on you. Then I got mad.”

I had thought about killing him, but it surprised me just a little bit that he assumed I would think that.

Before I could linger on that thought too long, Aiden leveled that dark gaze on me. “If you had done that to me…” He looked a little uncomfortable at whatever he was thinking and let out a shaky exhale. “I wouldn’t have handled it as well as you did.”

That was a freaking fact.

“I wasn’t nagging,” I stated. Then thought about it and, in my head, amended the statement to add ‘mostly’ to it.

He tilted his head to the side like he wanted to argue otherwise. “You were nagging, but you had a right to. I have a lot going on right now.”

My first thought was: The end has come. He’s opening up to me.

My second thought was: It’s so obvious he’s stressed as hell.

I hadn’t caught onto his body language, or the tightness he carried both in his shoulders and his voice as he spoke, but now up close, it was obvious. He’d been through a lot in just the first month of the regular season. He’d already sprained his ankle. Zac had gotten kicked off the team. On top of that, he was worried about his visa and his future with not just the Three Hundreds but in the NFO, period. His injury would be a factor in his career for the rest of his life. Any time he made a mistake, people would wonder if he hadn’t come back as strongly as he’d been before, even if it had nothing to do with his Achilles tendon.

The guy looked ready to snap, and it was barely the end of September. I wanted to ask him if he’d heard anything back from the immigration lawyer, or if our marriage license had showed up, or if Trevor had quit being a pain in the ass and started to look for another team or a better deal or whatever it was that he wanted out of the next stage of his career but…

I didn’t. Today would be a bad day for me to ask and for him not to answer. I was too raw and tired and disillusioned.

And it was in that moment, with that thought, the slightest bit of remorse flickered through my brain because I realized that maybe I had been itching for a fight. Maybe. And maybe this really had been the worst time—for him—to give him so much shit when he already had so much on his shoulders.

Plus, I wasn’t in the best state of mind either.

But apologizing wasn’t my forte and doing so wasn’t easy, but a good person recognized when they were wrong and accepted their faults. “I’m sorry for exploding on you. I was angry that you didn’t go, but I know why you bailed. I just don’t like it when people say they’ll do something and then don’t, but I’ve been like that for a long time. It has nothing to do with you.” I took those words straight from the Bank of Aiden. On top of that, there was everything else that had built up over the course of the weekend that wasn’t his fault. Not that I would bring it up.

His response was a nod of acceptance, of acknowledgment that we’d both handled the situation badly.

“So, I’m sorry too. I know how important your career is to you.” With a sigh, I held out my hand to him. “Friends?”

Aiden glanced from my outstretched palm to my face before taking my hand in his. “Friends.” It was midshake that he looked down at his giant hand swallowing mine, and the most disgusted expression came over that perfectly stoic face. “What the hell happened to your wrist?”

Yeah, I didn’t even bother trying to pull my sleeve down and play stupid. I’d forgotten that I’d tugged them up like an idiot. I slipped out of his hold and let the familiar flow of anger creep down the back of my neck once more at the memory of my sister’s idiot husband.

Specifically, him grabbing my arm and yanking me away after I’d yelled at Susie because she’d practically said she wished she’d have killed me. I’d told her she was out of her goddamn mind. But I hadn’t asked her for the millionth time why she hated me so much. What could I have possibly done before I was even four years old to make me her archnemesis? I was mad at myself for not preventing the entire situation, mostly. Then again, her husband had dropped his grip of steel the minute I’d charged my leg upward to try and knee him in the balls, ramming him straight into the inner thigh instead.

“It’s nothing.”

Those dark brown eyes blazed up to meet mine, and I swore on my life, the fury in those irises was enough for me to stop breathing. “Vanessa,” Aiden growled, literally growled, as he softly tugged the sleeve further up my forearm to display the five-inch bruise just above my wrist.

I watched as he gazed at the stupid, stupid discoloration. “I got into an argument with my sister.” Was there a point in not telling him who it was with? I only had to glance at the hard drawn line of his mouth to know he wasn’t going to let this go. “Her husband was there and he got a little handsy, so I tried to knee him in the balls.”

His nostrils flared and a muscle in his cheek visibly twitched. “Your sister’s husband?”

“Yes.”

His cheek spasmed again. “Why?”

“It was stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

Was that a grumble caught in his throat? “Of course it matters.” His voice was deceptively soft. “Why did he do it?”

I knew that look on his face; it was his stubborn one. The one that said it was pointless to argue with him. While I wasn’t crazy about spreading Susie’s business around, much less share how rocky my relationship with my third oldest sister was, Susie and I could be on Jerry Springer. She made her choices years ago, and it was no one else’s fault but her own what she had gotten out of them. We’d grown up under the same circumstances, neither one of us having something the other didn’t. I couldn’t feel any pity for her.

Rubbing my hands over my pant legs, I blew out a breath. “She didn’t like the way I was looking at her and we got into a fight,” I explained, leaving out a couple of details and colorful words, even though it wasn’t much of an explanation. “Her husband overheard us arguing” —her calling me a bitch and me telling her she was an immature twat– “and he grabbed me.”

You snobby bitch. What gives you the right to think you’re better than me? She’d had the freaking nerve to yell in my face.

I’d responded in the only way all that pent-up anger in me was capable of. Because I’m not a fucking asshole who loves to hurt everything in her life. That’s why I think I’m better than you.

Aiden’s calloused fingertips suddenly brushed lightly over the bruising, lifting my wrist in the cradle of those hands that were an instrumental part of his multi-million dollar body. The tic in his cheek had gotten worse as I tipped my head further back to look at that hard line his jaw made when he was gritting his teeth. His breath rattled out, and the thumb and index finger of one of his hands circled the middle of my forearm as he said, “Did he apologize?”

“No.” I made myself clear my throat, uncomfortable, uncomfortable, uncomfortable.

I saw him gulp. The air filled with an unfamiliar tension. His swallow sounded loud in my ears. “Did he hit you?”

And just like that, I realized—I remembered why he might be so upset over the situation. I flashbacked to that memory I’d shoved to the back of my brain because I’d been worried about getting fired. How the hell could I have forgotten about it?

Almost immediately after I first began working for the man known as The Wall of Winnipeg, I’d gotten dragged to Montreal for a charity event that he’d donated to. Afterward, Leslie—who had since moved from Winnipeg—invited me along to his house with Aiden for dinner with his family. Aiden had seemed distracted that day, but I thought maybe I’d been imagining it. I hadn’t known him well then, hadn’t learned the little nuances in his features or in his tone that gave away an idea of how he was feeling or what he was thinking.

We’d been having dinner with Leslie, his wife, two of his sons, and one of his grandkids, who happened to be the cutest little boy. The four-year-old boy had been climbing from lap to lap throughout our visit, and at some point, to my shock, ended up on the big guy’s lap. The boy had reached up and started touching Aiden’s face, tenderly and casually. His hand strayed to that heavy, thick, scar that stretched along his hairline. The boy asked him, “What happened?” in that blunt, cute way little kids were capable of.

The only reason I heard his answer was because I’d been sitting next to him. Otherwise, I was sure I would have missed the whispered, casual reply.

“I made my dad very mad.”

The silence after his answer had been stifling, suffocating, and irrepressible all in one. The little boy had blinked at him like he couldn’t comprehend the answer he’d been given; why would he? It was obvious how much he was loved. Aiden’s eyes slid over to my direction and I knew he realized I’d overheard him, because I couldn’t look away fast enough and play dumb.

Aiden didn’t say a word after that; he didn’t remind me of the non-disclosure agreement that I’d been forced to sign my first day on the job, or threaten my life or future if I told anyone. So I sure as hell didn’t bring it up either. Ever.

Blinking away the memory and the sympathy that filled my chest because Aiden was so touchy over an incident like this, I dropped my eyes to his beard. I didn’t want him to see me because I was sure he would know I was thinking about something he wouldn’t want me to. “No, he didn’t hit me. He’s still alive.” I cracked a little smile.

He didn’t return it. “Did you tell anyone?”

I sighed and tried to pull my arm back. He didn’t let go. “I didn’t need to. Everyone heard.”

“And they did nothing?” Was his cheek twitching?

I shrugged my shoulder. “I don’t have that kind of relationship with my family.”

That sounded about as fucked up as it was.

The betrayal that had pierced through me in that moment stabbed me again, fresh and painful. Tears pooled in my eyes as I relived the incident when I was eighteen that ruined what was left of the fractured bond I’d shared with them. Even my knee ached a little at the memory.

Those large fingers eased their grip on my hand just slightly, and in a smaller voice than he usually used, he asked, “She’s your real sister?”

Real sister. I’d mentioned my foster parents, hadn’t I? “Yes.” I messed with my glasses. “We’ve never gotten along. She’s about as far from what a sister should be as you can get.”

“How many do you have?”

“Three.”

“You’re the youngest?”

“Youngest girl.”

“They were there?”

“Yes.”

“And none of them did anything? Said anything?”

Why did I feel so ashamed? My eyes started to sting, and that made me force my gaze upward. I wasn’t going to feel bad. I wasn’t going to hide. “No.”

His gaze switched from one of my eyes to the other. “They live in El Paso?”

“I think.”

His nostrils flared and he gently let go of my hand, my skin immediately missing the warm touch of his fingers. “Okay.” He took a step back and turned his head over his shoulder. “Zac!”

What the hell? “What are you doing?”

He didn’t look at me before yelling Zac’s name again. “I need to borrow his car. If I fly, there will be proof I was there.”

Holy shit.

“You—?” I choked. “You—?” I coughed that time, floundering. “What the hell are you planning on doing?”

“You kneeing him isn’t doing it for me.” Aiden didn’t even grace me with a glance as he made his way toward my door. “Zac!”

Yeah, those tears pooling in my eyes decided screw it. They went for it. One, two, and three. “You’ve lost your mind, big guy.”

“No. That asshole lost his mind. Your family lost their mind. I know what I’m doing.”

This psycho was going to try and beat someone up, wasn’t he? Holy shit. “You’d do that for me?”

Crap, my expectations were low if that made me teary.

The big guy stopped in front of the door and spun on his heel with a lot more grace than a man that large should be capable of. He blinked, piercing me with a glare. “We’re partners. We’re a team. You said it.”

I nodded dumbly, earning me that ‘you’re an idiot’ look from him. His eyebrows went up just a little, his head just slightly forward enough to be confrontational. “If someone messes with you, they’re going to mess with me, Van. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I might not be good with this friend crap, but I’m not about to let somebody get away with hurting you. Ever. Do you understand me?”

My heart. My poor, weak pathetic heart.

I swallowed and tried to nod away the clump of emotions plugging up every vein in my body. As much as I would love Aiden to go kick Susie’s husband’s ass… “The guard would see you driving his car, and there’s a camera at the gate.”

Aiden tilted his head and pinned me with another look that might have been a surprised one. “You’ve put some thought into this,” he said slowly.

“Of course I have.” He didn’t need to know I’d been plotting his murder then. “That’s why I know we have to wait.”

“We?”

“Yeah. I’m not going to let you go beat him up alone. I’d like to get a couple stomps in too.” I raised my eyebrows and smiled faintly, letting the tension slide off my shoulders. “I’m joking.” Sort of. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again, and even if I do, their lives suck. Mine doesn’t. That’s enough vengeance for me. Trust me.”

Well, at least most of the time it was enough.

“Vanessa…” He trailed off with a frown.

The next three sentences we shared between the two of us were going to be the last thing I thought about when I went to bed later that night.

“You’ve been with me for two years, but I figure I’m barely beginning to understand,” the big guy claimed, his expression solemn.

“Understand what?”

“I should probably be scared of you.”

Chapter Seventeen

My eyes were crossing from staring at stock images for so long when my phone beeped with a text message. Sliding my glasses up over my forehead into my hair, I yawned and picked up my smartphone.

Text Message

Miranda P.

Curious—more than curious because this was the first time I’d ever gotten a text from him—I pulled up the message and read it. Then I read it again. And again. And then I just stared blankly at my desktop computer screen.

They had found out.

Before I could panic, I made myself stretch my fingers wide and take a calming breath. You already knew this was bound to happen. At least that’s what I told myself.

The more I thought about it, the more I should have been appreciative that the people at the chapel in Las Vegas hadn’t recognized him. Or that people on the street had been oblivious and hadn’t seen us going in and out of there. Or that the receptionist at the acupuncturist hadn’t snapped a picture on her phone and posted it online.

Because I might not understand all people, much less most of them, but I understood nosey folks. And nosey folks would do something like that without a second thought. Yet, I reminded myself that there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

It would be fine. So, one gossip site posted about us getting married. Whoop-de-do. There was probably a thousand sites just like it.

I briefly thought about Diana hearing about it, but I’d deal with that later. There was no use in getting scared now. She was the only one whose reaction I cared about. My mom and sisters’ opinions and feelings weren’t exactly registering at the top of my list now… or ever. I made myself shove them to the back of my thoughts. I was tired of being mad and upset; it affected my work. Plus, they’d made me sad and mad enough times in my life. I wasn’t going to let them ruin another day.

Picking my phone up again, I quickly texted Aiden back, swallowing my nausea at the same time.

Me: Who told you?

Not even two minutes passed before my phone dinged with a response.

Miranda: Trevor’s blowing up my phone.

Eww. Trevor.

Me: We knew it was going to happen eventually, right? Good luck with Trev. I’m glad he doesn’t have my number.

And I was even gladder there wasn’t a home phone; otherwise, I’m positive he would have been blowing it up too.

I managed to get back to looking at images on the screen for a few more minutes—a bit more distracted than usual—when the phone beeped again.

It was Aiden/Miranda. I should really change his contact name.

Miranda: Good luck? I’m not answering his calls.

What?

Me: That psycho will come visit if you don’t.

Was that me being selfish? Yes. Did I care? No.

Aiden: I know.

Uh.

Me: You’re always at practice…

Aiden: Have fun.

This asshole! I almost laughed, but before I could, he sent me another message.

Aiden: I’ll get back to him in a couple days. Don’t worry.

Snorting, I texted back.

Me: I’m not worried. If he drops by, I’ll set him up in your room.

Aiden: You genuinely scare me.

Me: You don’t know how many times you barely made it through the day alive, for the record.

He didn’t text me back after that.

I was in the middle of eating lunch the next day when my phone beeped. So far, I hadn’t gotten any threatening calls or texts from Diana, but I was still a little scared to look at the screen. I actually hadn’t heard from her at all since I’d left her house. That wasn’t unusual, but it still left me feeling a little anxious and a little mad. Luckily, it was Aiden’s name that popped onto the display. I had finally gotten around to changing his contact information.

Aiden: Are you free this Sunday?

I was never free on any day, technically, but his question made me pause.

Me: It depends. Why?

Aiden: Come to my game.

Uh. Was I imagining this? Was he really inviting me to one of his games for the first time in the history of the universe?

Me: I’ve gone to a few of your games.

Aiden: You’ve met me after a game five times.

He remembered that?

Me: I met you after a game five times, but I’ve gone to more than those, thank you.

Aiden: When?

Me: Last season I went to five. The season before that, I went to three. I haven’t gone to any this year though.

Obviously.

Aiden: Why

Me: Because the guy who usually gets me tickets doesn’t play for your team anymore…

Aiden: Zac got you tickets?

Me: Who else would?

Aiden: I could have.

The same person who couldn’t tell me ‘good morning?’ Riiiight.

My phone beeped again.

Aiden: I could get you tickets now. All you have to do is tell me.

There was something about the fact he said ‘tell me’ and not ‘ask’ that made me grin.

Me: I didn’t know that. You usually only get tickets for Leslie and that’s it. Zac always just gave them to me.

Aiden: Come this Sunday.

Me: I sort of had plans.

I lied. My plans were to get a little work done in the morning and watch a couple of football games to make sure my fantasy football quarterback and favorite wide receiver got the job done.

Aiden: Do you want Trevor or Rob to come visit?

Me: Is that a threat?

Aiden: It’s a fact. I talked to both of them. They brought up how you haven’t been to my games.

I decided right then that I didn’t want to know what they had talked about. I didn’t need to know either. If Aiden was threatening me with visits from one or both of them, and they were aware that we’d signed paperwork… that was enough for me. I could take one for Team Graves if I had to, especially if it didn’t involve those two jackasses.

Me: Fine. Get me two tickets, please.

Aiden: In the family box?

Hello no.

Me: In the bleachers, if you can, big guy.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Zac whispered as we got out of line at the concession stand located by the club level.

Honestly, I couldn’t believe I had either. When I’d thought about whom I could ask to go with me, I knew my options were limited. There was Diana, who I hadn’t talked to, was still frustrated with, and didn’t want to lie to again especially since my marriage to Aiden had been reported. There were a couple of people I’d met through her that I hung out with every once in a while. Then there was Zac. I hadn’t exactly had a whole bunch of time to make friends since moving to Dallas. So I’d gone on a limb and asked Zac if he’d like to go.

What I hadn’t been surprised about was his reluctance.

But I usually got what I wanted as long as I wanted it bad enough, and this was no difference.

That didn’t mean I had to be smug about it. Patting his arm, I steered him in the direction of the section our seats were in. He’d never been in the stadium as anything but a player before, and he’d been eyeing everything like it was new. There might have also been half a sneer on his face, but I was going to pretend to ignore it.

“Are you sure you’re okay being here?”

“Yes,” he insisted.

I wasn’t sure if I entirely believed him, but he’d said the same thing to me all eight times I’d asked. Still, I felt a little guilty to be putting him through a game when he’d been released a little over a month ago. He’d come back with, “I guess I’m gonna watch a game at home anyway.”

The more I thought about it, the guiltier I felt. He could have said no to coming, but he hadn’t. “We can go have Mexican food afterward, how about that?” I nudged him.

His only answer was a grumble and something that resembled a nod.

Our seats were excellent. So excellent that I wasn’t sure who the hell Aiden had to bribe to get them just days before the game. We were right at the fifty-yard line, third row. Surrounding the seats were a river of jerseys and Three Hundreds trademarked gear, and I could sense Zac’s tension as we took our spots.

Setting our drinks down, the big Texan leaned into me. “Are you gonna tell me why we’re sittin’ here instead of in the box?”

I slid him a look. “I don’t like the people there.”

That had the nosey ass interested. “Who?” He even whispered the question, his eyes alight with interest. “Tell me.”

Good grief. I couldn’t help how much of an asshole I was about to sound like. “All of them?”

Zac burst out laughing. “Why?”

I had to take a sip out of the beer I’d bought before I could muster enough mental strength to recollect that day. “Remember that time you got me tickets for there? The first time you invited me?” He didn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. “Well, I went… it was like Mean Girls with women who have been out of high school a long time. They were talking about each other nonstop; who had gained weight, who was using a purse from last season, and who was cheating on who… it gave me a headache. Now I’m one of them.”

“You’re one of you, Van.”

That made me feel nice. I might have preened as I took another sip of my beer and then touched my shoulder against his. “I like you, you know that, don’t you?”

He snorted and grabbed his own beer bottle, taking a swig out of it. We settled in and watched the players come on to the field, the fans in the stadium getting to their feet and screaming all eighty thousand of their lungs out. The Three Hundreds were playing one of their top competitors, the Houston Fire, and it was packed. I was planning on sending my foster dad a picture message later.

Unzipping my jacket so I could have free range of my arms and hands later in the game, I pulled my arms out of my sleeves and adjusted the bottom hem of the jersey I’d put on.

Beer shot out of Zac’s mouth and right into his lap. “Van. Van. Why would you do that?” he cried, eyeing me like I’d lost my mind even as his hands wiped at his face.

I sat back in my seat and grinned. “Because you’re my friend, and if anyone’s watching, I don’t want them to forget about you.”

Hours later, Zac and I had gone to eat Mexican food—and squeezed in a margarita each—after the game, and were back at the house when Aiden finally showed up. Those huge legs dragged across the floor as he dropped his bag, looking every bit as tired and thoughtful as he usually did after a win. I didn’t know why he got so thoughtful after a win instead of rejoicing, but I kind of liked it. When the team didn’t win a game, he usually just looked revved up and downright pissed in that quiet, brooding way of his. Like clockwork, he’d eat something then disappear into his room.

Stirring the boiling pot of quinoa noodles, I flashed him a grin over my shoulder. “Good game, big guy.” He’d gotten three sacks, which wasn’t a bad day at all.

“Thanks.” He stopped in place. “What the hell are you wearing?”

With the spoon still in the pot, I shrugged. “Clothes.”

“You know what I mean.”

“A jersey?” I offered with a one-shoulder shrug.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him moving around. I felt him inspecting me. His voice was low and careful as he said, “You’re wearing Zac’s jersey.”

“Yep.”

“You… went to the game wearing Zac’s jersey?” Still sober, still tiptoeing.

“Uh-huh.” I glanced at him finally standing directly behind me, his back to the kitchen island. His arms crossed over that wide expanse of a chest. “I don’t want anyone forgetting he’s a quarterback,” I explained before turning back around.

He moved then. He didn’t say anything for so long, I thought maybe he’d walked out of the kitchen, but I found him sitting at the breakfast nook table with his elbows on his thighs. I realized his cheek was twitching, but he didn’t necessarily look mad. He just looked… contemplative all over again.

“Are you okay?”

Only his eyes swept across the room before they landed on me and he tipped his chin down. “Fine.”

“All right.” The timer for the noodles went off, and I turned to the stove. Straining the noodles and placing them in a big bowl, I dumped the pecan seasoning and the vegetables I’d prepared earlier over them, giving them a stir. Setting the pot and the cutting board into the sink with one hand, I carried the bowl over to where Aiden was sitting and set it front of him. “I figured you’d be hungry. Just wash the dishes or put them in the washer, okay?”

That dark gaze tipped up to meet mine, surprise written all over those serious features.

I didn’t know where the hell it came from, but I winked at him. “Thank you for the tickets, by the way. They were great.”

“Thank you for the food,” he said as he stood up, literally a foot and a half away from me.

The last time we’d been so close together had been when we were in Vegas and I gave him that peck on his mouth in the chapel, but I’d been so distracted at that point with everything going on, I hadn’t been able to appreciate just how freaking huge he was up close. Because big, he was. Tall and broad at the shoulders and chest, that trim waist only made everything else about him more imposing. He was radiating this insane amount of heat and the slight scent of coconut oil he put on his face every time he showered.

Good lord he was attractive.

I swallowed the saliva in my mouth and smiled up at him as if his presence wasn’t a big deal. Like this lack of distance between us was an everyday occurrence. “Okay, well, enjoy your food. I’m going upstairs to watch some TV.”

He thanked me again as he went to the cupboards for a glass.

What the hell had been up with that? I wondered once I was in my room, sitting on the edge of the bed.

What in the living hell had been up with me?