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“What kind of person is that?” He ruffled a hand through his hair.
She opened her mouth and closed it again. Cleared her throat and tried again. “The kind people love.”
“Didn’t get that memo.” He searched her face but couldn’t find the sliver of a future he’d hoped to find there. “I do love you.”
Her expression softened slightly. “You only think you love me. It’s just an illusion.”
She said the words, but her eyes didn’t match them.
He cleared the smoke from his throat. “I want to be with you.”
She moved her hands away. “Will, it won’t work.”
He stared at her, unable to speak. She was leaving.
He tore his eyes from hers and rose from the bed, pacing to the window to put space between them. Distance, so he could think straight. He wasn’t enough.
“Will,” she said, “please say something.”
The door creaked open.
“Vitals check,” the nurse called from behind the curtain. She yanked it open and wheeled in the little cart.
“I should, ah, go. Check in on Neilson.” William did what he did best, put on the mask, shut down emotion, and left without a backward glance.
“Will…” he thought he heard her say softly. He couldn’t be sure.
* * *
William’s world crumbled around him, but at least Neilson would be okay. Three gut shots and a bullet that grazed his lung. Dude had a guardian angel because he shouldn’t have survived. But he had, and the doctors held out hope for a full recovery.
William left the intensive care unit and slipped past a doctor into the elevator. His head throbbed like someone had dropped-kicked it into a professional soccer match.
He was losing Lucy.
He’d said he loved her, but it wasn’t enough. What he experienced last night was a trip through purgatory. Now he was officially in hell. A cough racked his lungs as the elevator chimed.
The doors slid open, and he moved to exit when Teresa stepped in. She glanced up and jerked to a stop.
“William.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she wrapped her arms around him.
He let her. If he was in hell, he might as well embrace it. Seemingly on their own, his arms wrapped around her as she squeezed tighter.
“So worried. I call, and you are not here. No one knows where you are. We hear you are in the fire and nothing else.” Her accent was heavier than normal. She leaned back and tapped his cheeks with her soft hands.
The doors slid closed again, cocooning them in the small cab of the elevator.
“I got out okay.” His attempt at a reassuring smile clearly failed. “I’m fine.”
She studied him. “You are not fine,” she announced. “We will have tea. Talk.”
“I—”
“Enough.” She raised her palm to him. Teresa was apparently done with his avoidance. “We are family. Families have communication.”
Yes, she was through with his dodging. She had used the tone she’d perfected when he was a child, and she was his nanny. That tone she’d used when he’d gotten caught stealing extra peanut butter cookies in the middle of the night. They’d had talks then, too.
But that was before his mother died. Before Teresa married his father, thrusting their betrayal into light.
