“I don’t know. The coming storm?”
“Here I thought you’d be dying to get back to LA, Freckles?”
I give him a sad smile. “I don’t think you should call me that anymore.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“I’m not your Freckles anymore, Gabe. I haven’t been for a long time.”
“Bullshit. I’ve called you that since the first day I met you. I don’t ever plan on stopping.”
I sip my wine and close my eyes, listening to the crackling fire. The storm picks up outside, agitating my already frayed nerves. “You asked me why we couldn’t get back to being just friends. It’s because you’re always going to be a habit I can’t ever really kick.”
His gaze locks with mine and he moves closer, invading my space, his body turned to face me, one arm resting on the back of the couch while the other tucks my hair behind my ear and then strokes my cheek.
My throat constricts and I try to swallow down the words, but they come out anyway. “You’re the father of my child, you’re my first love, and you’re always going to be the one I can’t hide from, so I’m trusting you with this. I’m asking—no—I’m begging you toremember that while alcohol and drugs might be your weakness, you’ve always been mine. I became an addict the second I met you, and every touch, every taste, every kiss since has just fed my addiction. So I need you to know that I’m not dating Arturo to hurt you. I’m just trying to get clean.”
His shoulders rise and fall with his rapid breath, and I don’t know if he wants to yell at me or kiss me. “Well, shit, Lo. You really know how to gut a man.”
I lean into his hand and then grasp it with my own. I turn my cheek and kiss his palm as traitorous tears fall over my lashes. “I’m sorry.”
“Let me ask you somethin’,” he says, a little of that long-forgotten Southern accent creeping back in. “When you think about your life, in five, ten, twenty years from now, am I in it?”
“Of course. You’re my son’s father. You used to be my best friend.”
“I’m your husband.”
“My ex-husband.”
“Why have you never asked for a divorce?”
I frown. “I don’t know, because they’re messy, because I don’t plan on remarrying.”
“Ever? Not even to Arturo?”
I shake my head. “We’ve never discussed it.”
“But you and I made a pact years ago.”
“And?” I hedge, not sure I really want to know where he’s going with this.
“We were kids, we were stupid and drunk, and a part of you still agreed to spend the rest of your life with me.”
“What are you getting at, Gabe?”
“You can date whoever you want, but you’re never getting over this. Same as me.”
“What are you talking about? I’m dating Art. I’mwithArt.”
“And yet, you came away with me.”
“I’m tired, Gabe. I don’t have the energy for this tonight.” I set my wine down on the coffee table and stand.
“You haven’t talked about it, Lo. You haven’t asked me for a divorce because deep down you don’t want one.”
“No.Youdon’t want one, and this conversation is just pushing me closer to making that phone call.”
“You really hate me that much? That you’d divorce me just to prove a point.”