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Sophie rubs her eyes and yawns. “Not great, actually.” When she doesn’t continue, I don’t push for more even though I want to. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me.
“Sorry,” I say, keeping my feet planted as I lean against the counter. “Want some coffee?”
“Yes. Thanks.” I grab the coffee pot carafe and pour it into the mug before handing it to her. She takes it, then finds a seat at the counter. There’s never been awkward silence between us, but lately, there have been moments of not knowing what to say or how to act. I want to scoop her up into my arms and kiss her until our lips go numb. I get a little hope knowing she’s sleeping with my T-shirt, and without her asking, I gave her another one last night before she went to bed.
“Happy your appointment is today?” I ask as I dig into the fridge. I don’t need anything, but I need to keep my hands busy. I end up pulling out lunch meat and decide to make a sandwich for work. Someone will eat it if I don’t.
“Yes and no,” she says, again not adding more. “Just a heads-up, I’m meeting my sisters for dinner afterward. So I’ll be home a little later.”
“Okay,” I say. The tension between us is so damn thick I could cut it with a knife. She doesn’t want to talk to me, and I don’t know what to say to her. We yo-yo between things being okay to things feeling like they’ll never go back to normal again—never get back to what we once had—and that scares the living shit out of me.
“Well, I gotta head into work. Text me if you want, okay?” I tell her, leaning in and kissing her cheek. I’ve told her that for the past two days, and she hasn’t yet, but I won’t give up hope that she will eventually.
“Okay. Have a good day,” she tells me.
She’s all that’s on my mind while I work my bitch shift. Sophie always is, but today especially, knowing she’s seeing her therapist. I want things to go well for her so she can start sorting her emotions and possibly open up about it. Part of me understands the guilt she’s feeling, and I know where she’s coming from. I just hate that she won’t let me in so I can help her through it all.
I end up leaving work at a decent time, but when I see Serena’s car in the driveway, I wish I’d stayed later. She was over a lot while Sophie was gone, and I know she’s checking up on me, but she doesn’t need to.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company again?” I taunt the moment I walk into the living room. She has her feet propped up on the coffee table as she pages through a magazine. “Make yourself at home.” I snort.
Serena drops the magazine with a glare. “Don’t forget who bought this coffee table.”
“Don’t forget who hauled its heavy ass in here,” I retort.
“If memory serves me right, Liam did most of the lifting.” She smirks.
I toss my wallet, keys, and phone on the table before taking a seat next to her. “Memory serves you wrong.”
Serena laughs, patting my knee. “How ya holding up?”
I narrow my eyes at her, searching her face. “You don’t have to check on me,” I tell her. “Don’t you have law stuff to do? Cases to solve? Put the bad guys away?”
“Things are a little slow right now,” she admits, shrugging. “And because law school sucked me dry and my boss worked me to the bone, I have no friends, no social life, and no boyfriend.”
“So what you’re saying is, I was your first choice to hang out with?” I snicker.
“My only choice.” She cackles. “I’m pathetic, I know.” Groaning, she throws her head back against the couch and releases a slow breath.
“Nah. You just put your career in front of sorority parties and one-night stands.” I push myself up and walk toward the kitchen. “Speaking of which, you want a beer?”
“Sure. Make it a double.”
“Let’s start with one.”
I return with our drinks, then kick my feet up. “So tell me the real reason you’re here.”
“I was worried about you. After the bomb about Dalton, I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. Have you spoken to your father since then?” she asks.
“Nope. Don’t plan to either.” I take a long swig of my beer.
“I know this is going to sound weird coming from me, but he really does love you. He might not show it properly, but he’s proud of you.”
My face whips around as if she’d just slapped me across the cheek. “Did he pay you to say that?”
“Oh my God, shut up!” She playfully punches my shoulder. “It’s true. He really is proud of you.”
