“I’m in your life or I’m not. It’s me. Just me. I can deal with the aftermath that he’s created because I understand it. But only the aftermath, when he’s past tense.”
“He is.”
“He just called you and you didn’t shut him down. That makes me feel like you aren’t ready to let him go. And if you aren’t—”
“He isnothingto me. You are. I just didn’t plan to talk to him ever again.”
“You’re an artist and so is he. You’re going to see him.We’regoing to see him. Are you prepared for that?”
“Honestly? Not yet, but I will be. I didn’t think or even dare to dream about being in a high-profile show while I was trapped by the winery. I didn’t mentally prepare. I’m not like you, Nick.”
“If you want me to make him go away, I will.”
“And then you’ll wonder if I would have done it without you. I need to handle him and I will. Actually, I just want this done and over with.” I twist out of his arms and charge through the bathroom into the bedroom, only to discover my phone ringing again.
Anger burns inside me for about ten different reasons: I’ve let Macom get into my head and inside my relationship with Nick. The man actually expects me to answer his calls when I haven’t spoken to him in over a year. And I could keep going with the list of reasons but I’m at the bed holding the phone and I hit answer. “What do you want, Macom?” I demand, turning to find Nick standing in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom.
“Faith,” Macom replies, his voice low, intimate, familiar, and I feel it like a punch in my belly and not a good one.
I sit down on the mattress, my eyes on Nick. “Why are you calling, Macom?”
“I heard the good news about the show. Congratulations.”
“Why are you calling me, Macom?” I repeat.
“I want to see you. Come here. Our bed misses you.”
I laugh bitterly and cut my gaze from Nick’s. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“I messed up.”
“Let me be clear. We arenotfriends. We will never be friends. I don’t think we were ever friends. We willneverbe anything but a bad mistake. Don’t call me. Don’t even talk about me. Stay away from me at the show. And be professional. Leave Josh out of this.”
“I’ll come there and help you make your show selections,” he says, as if I’ve said nothing. “I want you to do well.”
“I’ve moved on, Macom. I’m in a relationship.”
“Of course you are, but I’m up for the challenge.”
“There is no challenge.Do notcome here.”
Suddenly Nick is on a knee in front of me, taking the phone. “This is Nick Rogers, Macom. I’m the challenge. Faith was done with you long before she left you, and you were too self-absorbed to see it. But if we need to talk this out, I have a private jet fueled and ready. I can fly you here and we can sit and chat. You can tell me all about your art.”
Nick abruptly lowers the phone and tosses it on the bed. “He hung up.”
“You were supposed to let me handle this.”
“Yes well, sweetheart, I’m a little more possessive than I realized.” His hands slide under his shirt on my bare thighs. “And if you’re angry—”
“I’m not angry,” I say, leaning forward and tangling fingers in his loose hair, his protectiveness, possessiveness even, hitting a nerve and not a bad one. “I’m not,” I say, shoving away the memory now stirred, and focusing on this man, the man that matters. “I need you too much, Nick. I need you to know that’s scaring me because I’m afraid you’ll see it as something it’s not.”
“Then we’ll be scared together, because I need you, Faith. So fucking much it hurts. Don’t make me feel that alone because you’re afraid of getting hurt. Because I’m just as afraid.”
I pull back to look at him. “You’re afraid.”
“Yes. And I don’t do fear. I don’t wear it well, remember?”
“God, Nick. You are—”