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My heart isn’t fairing much better. I sense echoes of its frantic rhythm in my neck and wrists.
I blink some of the emotion away and expel a whoosh of air from my lungs, then turn away from Cal’s perceptive eyes.
As if that would help.
As if it would prevent him from seeing me.
The next few words rush forward, practically scraping their way up my throat to crawl out. “The funeral was awkward. My sisters were cold to me, but that was my fault. I’d been avoiding their calls and didn’t know Mom had died until I got a Google alert with her obituary. I have those set up to track my family. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known. You believe that? Me. A fucking Google alert. Something anyone can set up. But if I’d been talking to them, I’d have known sooner and could have helped with the funeral arrangements.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor there.
Only pain.
Loneliness and regret.
Yeah, there’s loads of regret.
“There’s not much else to tell about my family. It’s just me now, and that’s fi—”
I catch myself before I continue that thought. Because it’snotfine.
And I don’t want to lie to him. Never again.
My vision catches on the few bites I took out of the pita, but it no longer holds any appeal. I wrap it carefully and seal the foil with a piece of tape.
“I’m going to put this in the fridge to save it for later.”
Before I get past his chair, he grabs me around the wrist. My feet lock me in place, but I focus on the closed office door.
“Mia.”
My name leaves him in a hushed timbre, fraught with so many emotions I’m unable to identify a single one.
He says it again. “Mia.”
Not sure how he conveys that much understanding and compassion in two mere syllables. Just my name. Nothing else.
Yet I hear his message, loud and clear.
You’re not alone anymore.
It’s in the slight hum of theM.
The feathery brush of theI.
And the warm embrace of theA.
My view of the door blurs from the moisture pooling in my eyes. I wiggle my nose to fight off the sting and shake my head to distract myself from the tremble in my chin.
Then he’s there.
Holding me. Giving me someone to cling to.
Pulling me from my solitude.
Cal cups his warm, strong hand around my nape and pulls my face against his chest, and I breathe him in, letting his scent and touch soothe me. His other hand wraps around my waist. I drop the stupid pita and lock my arms around him, crushing myself against his firm chest.
He doesn’t try to fix my issues. He doesn’t badger me with questions or claim to hold the answers.
