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“But you have your pepper spray ready?”
“It’s on my nightstand.”
“Where are you?”
“In the living room.”
Just seeing her number had spooked him, made him realize he wasn’t as sure as he wanted to be that she’d be safe without him. Denial could hit anyone, especially someone so eager to get back on stable ground, and it had hit him.
He already regretted letting that happen. What had seemed reasonable in the light of day no longer seemed that way in the dark of night. “Go get it. Right away. Then you can tell me what’s wrong.”
She seemed to be moving when she spoke again. “When Adriana came by earlier, she had a few things to say about you that were a little different than anything she’s told me before.”
If he never heard Adriana’s name again it would be too soon.
Rolling over, he gazed at his daughter’s picture in the moonlight coming through the windows overlooking the cityscape. What could’ve changed? And did he even want to know? He’d hurt so many people…. “What’d she say?” he finally said.
“You seem reluctant to ask.”
He was reluctant. But he was also resigned. “You’re entitled to your pound of flesh, remember?”
She didn’t laugh. She was too serious for jokes tonight. “Adriana told me she was in love with you when she slept with you ten years ago.”
He said nothing, didn’t know what to say. Hearing that made him feel even worse, because, for the most part, she’d been both nameless and faceless to him. He’d only been reacting to the desperate panic he experienced whenever he realized how much he loved Francesca. It made him feel too out of control, too vulnerable—placed him right where he’d been when he was married, and he couldn’t deal with that.
“This doesn’t come as a surprise?” she asked.
“I guess I sort of knew she felt…something. Or thought she did.” He wasn’t sure her emotions had ever been stronger than a crush. Until that night, he hadn’t so much as flirted with her.
He would’ve explained that to Francesca, except he feared it would look as though he was minimizing his mistake or trying to excuse his own actions, and he refused to do either. Francesca had made the right decision when she cut him out of her life. She deserved better.
“Did you guess before you were, um, together?” she asked.
He pulled his eyes from Summer’s smiling face and sat up. “Are you holding your pepper spray?”
“I am now. Yes.”
“Good.”
“Can we get back to the discussion?”
Massaging his left temple, he slumped onto his pillows. “Do we have to?”
“You’d rather not?”
He sighed. “I could sense some…interest. Why?”
“I don’t know what to think about it. It’s not every day you hear something like that from your best friend.”
Adriana had hurt Francesca all over again. Remembering how Francesca had thrown up during the drive to Prescott, he decided it was time to quit being so damned selfish and put a stop to her pain, if he could. “Listen, that night was entirely my fault, okay? Every bit of it. If I’ve ever claimed otherwise, I was just…passing the buck. I knew she had a thing for me, and I took advantage of it. Hate me, not her.”
There was a slight pause. He thought he heard the sniffle of tears. “What if I can’t hate you?”
His chest suddenly tightened so much he couldn’t have taken a deep breath if he’d wanted to. “You should. It would make everything easier for you,” he said gently. Then he hung up and turned off his phone so he wouldn’t be tempted to call her back. If he accepted all the blame for what he and Adriana had done ten years ago, the two women would patch up their friendship and move on, just as they had before. In another few months, Francesca would probably have new pictures sitting on her wet bar and mantel, pictures of her with another man similar to Roland Perenski.
She’d be happy, smiling, maybe even thinking about getting married….
* * *
