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There’s such hurt in her voice that I have to restrain myself from hauling her into my arms, comforting her.
“Taya, you’re the least pathetic person I know,” I manage to say through a choked throat. “You are—”
“Don’t.” She holds up her free hand. “Don’t say it yet. I know you feel it. I can see that you feel it. But I need—” She stops. “I need some more time before I can hear it and do anything useful with it.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You take your time.” I drink some coffee while holding the cup tight because my hands are shaking.
This woman owns me—makes me weak. And for once in my lifetime, I’m grateful for feeling this way.
“I love you,” she says.
My heart stumbles and then restarts, hammers.
“That’s not a gift, and it’s not an opening. It’s just the truth. I love you, and I’m furious at you, and I can’t forgive you yet, and I love you. All of those things are true.”
The morning light comes through the kitchen window and falls across the floor of the living room.
“I love you, too. And I’m going to make you less angry at me every day—so that after a time you won’t be angry or hurt—you’ll just love me.”
She opens her mouth to say something else.
Her phone rings.
She sees her phone’s screen. Something crosses her face—and she goes from my Taya to lawyer Taya.
She takes the call.
“Griffin.” There’s a lilt to her voice. It’s almost flirtatious.
She’s quiet as she listens to what that asshole says, and then she…giggles.
What the fuck?
“I heard about your mother-in-law. I’m so sorry.” A pause. “I have been, actually. Things have been—difficult. The case, and—” A soft laugh. “You always did know when things were hard.” Another pause, longer. “Yes. Yes, I think that makes sense. I’d be open to that. But let’s make it lunch.” She glances at me once, quick and deliberate, the professional acknowledging the personal without allowing them to collide. “Thursday works. Of course, I can do Aspen.” More listening on her end. Another giggle. “Alright, Griffin, thanks for calling.”
She hangs up.
The warmth is gone from her face immediately. She’s back to herself—precise, clear, working through something.
She scans through her phone.
“What the fuck was that?”
She looks up at me. “That is none of your business.” She dials a number and waits. “Kaz, Griffin called. I’m seeing him in Aspen on Thursday.” Pause. “No, I don’t know where. He said he’ll send me a restaurant. I told him lunch.” She listens for a while. “He knows. He’s sitting right here.” Silence. “I don’t have time for your prurient nonsense. I’ll let you know when and where.”
She hangs up.
“What the fuck is going on?” I demand, and when she ignores me, I crouch in front of her and hold her chin in between my thumb and forefinger. “Tell me that Kaz hasn’t roped you into his shit so help me God.”
She jerks her face away. “And so what? You can be involved in his shit, but I can’t? Why, because you’re a macho man, and I’m some sad little woman?”
Rage punches through my chest. I stand and haul her up to me. “You are not going to talk to that asshole ex of yours. Kaz can figure this out without you.”
Her knee comes up. I turn her around and hold her, my chest to her back.
“Last time I deserved it. Not this time, sweetheart.”
She struggles, tries to step on my foot, but I don’t let her blow land.
