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“Let’s speak later,” she murmured, looking pointedly at Jordan.
At a complete loss, he could only nod. “I’ll come …”
“No.” She cut him off fiercely, then took a steadying breath. “I’ll … contact you when I’m ready.”
* * *
“I presumed she knew.”
Ra’if nodded, numb all over.
“Why wouldn’t you tell her?” Olivia moaned, wrapping her arms around her waist. “You’re completely in love with this woman. I presume you see a future with her?”
He nodded again and closed his eyes.
All he could see was Melinda’s face. The betrayal in her eyes, the hurt in her lips. The worry. The tension. The grief.
“I would have told her,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “But the situation was complicated.”
“It’s an important part of who you are; of what you’ve come from.”
“I am not denying that,” he said with a hint of impatience. “Jordan’s father is an addict,” he said slowly.
But Olivia was quick. She put two and two together instantly. “That’s why you were calling rehab facilities?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said heavily. “I was trying to look out for you.”
“I can’t quite bring myself to thank you for the inclination.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jordan weighed a tonne. Then again, he’d eaten two servings of ham, roast potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, white bread and pudding. His Granny had spared no effort to make Christmas amazing and Melinda appreciated her efforts. Especially because she knew that they were filling a huge void in her life. They had no other family.
Perhaps they never would.
The sooner she could reconcile herself to the alone-ness of their life, the better.
It would stop her from looking for fantasy solutions; it would prevent her from believing in the delusional notion of love at first sight. What a fantasist!
She rounded the corner, shifting Jordan onto her other hip, tucking his head down on her shoulder as she approached her building.
Christmas eve.
One of her favourite times of year.
This year, though, it was devoid of any pleasure.
She felt like she could cry at a moment’s notice.
She didn’t.
Because she had been through loss and recovered.
She knew that time really did heal all wounds.
Even this one, this gaping, festering pain in her heart, would one day cease to hurt so brutally. She crossed the street, listening for cars, and then paused outside her home. Her keys were buried in her bag; a bag that was tucked under Jordan’s thigh.
