And resenting him, and our love, because of it.
“And now that you’re back?” She hadn’t probed further about my mom, but something told me she knew it wasn’t her place. This was between me and Jason… and the chasm of hurt that filled each year I’d ignored where I’d left my heart.
In his hands.
“I’m back to take care of Annabelle here.” I swallowed the ache in my throat. “My sister isn’t in the picture anymore, and it was getting too hard to do it on my own, so we moved back in with Mom and Dad. I was an editor for a while, but it didn’t pay enough, and with Annabelle in school and me trying to be the mom more often than not, it just wasn’t in the plan.” I’d left out the part about my sister randomly leaving for days on end, or my favorite… leaving her little girl alone in the hallway of my apartment building to wait for me to get home. Terror filled me just thinking about it.
“That’s it!” Max yelled. “We’re done being your slaves. Feed us, or suffer the consequences!”
And just like that, the moment was broken.
And I was so thankful I could have cried.
I glanced over at my house.
Mom was outside with Annabelle, watering the plants. I’d been gone most of the day; it was about time I went home.
I slowly got to my feet and went back into the house, careful to clean the wine goblet before grabbing my purse and making my way toward the door.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
Jason’s deep voice caused every hair on my body to stand on end in a magnetic, please-keep-talking way.
I looked over my shoulder and smiled.
Why does he have to be so good-looking? So commanding that the room stands at attention waiting for his next few words?
“I’ve been gone for a while, and Annabelle gets grumpy if she doesn’t see me.”
“When’s her bedtime?” He moved closer.
I frowned. “What?”
“Answer the question.”
He was crowding me, making it impossible not to smell his cologne, and the mint gum on his breath, and feel the heat from his body. “Um…” I felt dizzy in his presence. “…eight. I read her a story at eight, and she goes to sleep. Why?”
“Eight-thirty, it is.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek.
“But…” I frowned, “…if I remember correctly, after our first kiss and our skinny-dipping episode, which we didn’t really—” My voice faltered. “We’re still doing that? Didn’t the whole…” I gulped, “…you know…”
“No, you should spell it out, sweat a bit more, and keep looking at the button on my jeans like it’s going to fly off at any minute.” He grinned.
I pressed a hand to my hot face. “I meant—”
“Eight-thirty.” He bent near and kissed my neck. “Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I breathed a sigh of relief when he walked away, only to be crushed with mounting anxiety as I walked back to my house and noticed that the chalk line he’d always kept drawn on the cement was almost gone.
I tried not to let it upset me.
But it was impossible.
He had been my world.
And now, we were living worlds apart.