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“Really.”
“And dinner with your mom?”
“I’ll call her while you’re in the shower.”
“Okay.” I sigh, melting into him a little more.
He hugs me for several seconds before clearing his throat. “Are you ready to talk about the other day?”
“I can’t.”
He stiffens. “Why?”
“Because it’s too hard. It’s too much.”
“Scottie—”
“I’m begging you to let it go.”
“Well, I'm begging you to let me in.”
“If you love me?—”
“No. Don’t put conditions on my love for you. I can’t do this. Iwon’tdo this.” He lifts me off his lap and stands.
“Can’t do what?”
“Any of this.” He snaps his finger and points for Scrot to follow him to the door.
“What? Wait a minute.” I shake my head. “Literally, two minutes ago, you were going to invite your mom to dinner with us. And now you can’t doany of this? Any of what? Dinner? Meet my parents? Marry me?”
Koen holds out his hands in mock surrender. “You were visibly upset the other day. And when I asked you to tell me what was wrong, you begged me to drop it for that day. So I did. And when I went with you to close up the store, the tension between you and Price was palpable. But I didn’t push you. I offered you my open arms and simply held the quiet space with you. But it’s no longer that day.”
I don’t know what to say. And his shoulders sag a little more with my enduring silence.
“I need to talk to Price,” I whisper.
With a grunted laugh, Koen opens the door. “I can’t be the fucking third wheel in your relationship with him. I’m sorry.”
“Koen—”
The door clicks shut, and he doesn’t glance back. With tight fists and a determined stride, he leaves me to flounder in the mess I’ve made.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
COMPASSION IS FEARLESS … AND SOMETIMES RECKLESS.
I don’t hearfrom Koen for the rest of the day. After closing the store, I head straight to Price’s. No surprise, the lights are off. I contemplate waiting until tomorrow, but this can’t wait.
It takes him forever to answer the door. He’s no longer orange; he’s pale with squinted, bloodshot eyes. Tonight, he looks unwell.
He doesn’t greet me or wait for me to enter before he stumbles back to the bedroom.
“What can I do?” I ask, following him with my heart in my throat.
“Go home,” he mumbles, collapsing onto the bed and rolling into a ball on his side.
I had a long spiel ready for him, but now I can barely breathe watching him suffer. Words aren’t an option.
