Page 45 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“I insist.”

With a resigned, amused look in his eyes, he nods.

In the bathroom, he takes the kit from my hand and sits on the lip of the tub. “I’m a big boy. I can do it.” He kisses my forehead when I sit next to him, my heart doing backflips in my chest. Knox presses another kiss to my cheek, the sudden tenderness making me ache in that all-too-familiar way it does whenever he’s around.

With a smug look on his face, he removes his sock—stained bright red from the blood— and tends to his cut. I wince when I see the small gash, marveling at how something so small could cause so much damage. “You sure you wanna be here for this? You look like⁠—”

I shake my head. “It’s not that I’m squeamish, I promise. I have lots of experience with needles and blood and stuff.”

He snorts. “What? Were you a nurse or something, too?”

I sit up because once again I’ve said too much. I’ve invited more questions through stupid slips of my tongue.

“No, I—I just had to go through some medical treatments a long time ago, and it required me to give myself regular shots. So I kind of grew numb to the whole thing.”

His slacked jaw is everything I need to realize that I’m an idiot and should’ve probably just lied.

God, when am I ever going to learn that we’re hostages to the things we say, and free from the things we don’t?

“Were you sick? Are you okay now?” I watch as the panic settles in, my heart twisting at his concern. “Seriously, Lottie. I’m going to need you to answer me now.”

I pull one of his hands and hold it between both of mine. “Hey, stop. Everything’s fine.”

It takes me a few seconds to understand where the extra concern is coming from. But then I realize: he just unexpectedly lost his father. The thought of losing someone else right now—even if I’m just his business partner he’s hooked up with—must not be easy to process. “I’m good now.”

But he doesn’t let it go. “What happened? Tell me,” he pleads, while I try to search for the words that will please him enough to stop asking questions.

There’s no way I’m telling him the truth. There’s no way I’m going to sit here and tell him how I underwent years of every type of therapy available in order to get pregnant. How I had to learn to stomach giving myself shots, ignore the bruises it left behind—both the physical and emotional kind.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I shrug. “There was just a time in my life where I needed to give myself regular shots. I have this health thing and… But I don’t have it anymore. I mean, I don’t have to get the shots anymore. And I never will.” Never, ever again.

He stares back, wide-eyed. “Lottie, c’mon. You gotta give me more than that. Are you serious? You’re going to shut down on me now? After the day we’ve had, what we just did, and everything we talked about?”

I rear back. “Shut down? Just because I don’t want to tell you about something private? About my medical history? Do you realize how unreasonable you’re being right now?” I say, anger coursing through me. “See? This is why I didn’t want to do this. I knew you were going to ask for things I could never give you. This is why I didn’t want to say yes to any of it.”

Knox gets to his feet, cut still untreated, bloody sock in one hand. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me about your medical history, okay. But give me something. I need something from you. I need you to trust me.”

“You don’t need anything from me. And I can’t just give you my trust. That’s something you earn.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to think that no amount of showing or proving myself to you will ever earn me that luxury. I can’t even convince you to go out for goddamn dinner with me, for fuck’s sake. A romp in your loft? Sure. But talking about your feelings? Getting personal? Not something I’ll get to experience.”

My jaw drops and I can’t think of a single word to say, a different kind of fire coursing through my veins than the one from ten minutes ago.

“I’m gonna get outta your hair, now.”

As I watch him walk out of my bathroom and into the loft, I will myself to call out his name. But nothing comes out. I have nothing left to say.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LOTTIE

When I worked in fashion, I was fantastic in crises. Thrived in them, even. I was the goddamn problem-solving queen of luxury. Even now, through this whole bookstore renovation, I’ve felt myself slowly awaken from the state of numbness I’ve been in. Problem-solving has always made me feel professionally empowered and knowledgable. I love it. But when it comes to my personal life? Experience has taught me I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. I need help.

Are you there, Goddess? It’s me, Carlota, your favorite hot mess. I’m in my mid-thirties and my life is a goddamn joke. Any tips?

Though, if I’m honest, I don’t think appealing to any sort of deity will do me any good here.

Because I’m a coward, I avoid the store and day-dreaming about our amazing make-out session all of yesterday. Daydreaming about how close we got to getting together again, and mortified because of how abruptly it ended.