Unable to focus, I left work early. At home, I sat staring at the television, nothing registering, when Frisco texted me that he was back in New York. I fumbled with my phone and called him.
“Hey, what’s up?”
I failed at my first attempt to speak, then cleared my throat and tried again. “I told Nate.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. That’s about what my life is right now.”
“He didn’t take it well?”
“Understatement of the year.”
“Are you still at work?”
For the first time, I laughed, but it came out as a horrible sound, like I was being choked. “Not a chance.”
“I’m coming over. Don’t you dare move until I get there. You understand?”
“I’ve got no place to go.”
“Stupid fucking asshole shithead,” I heard Frisco spit out before he ended the call, and I had no idea if he meant Nate or me.
Half an hour later, Frisco handed me a glass of scotch from the bottle he’d picked up. I shook my head. “I’ll be sick.”
“Then put it in your coffee. But you need something to wake you up.”
“Why?” I stretched out my legs and gazed at the ceiling.
Never one to mince words or tiptoe around anyone’s feelings, Frisco kicked my feet. “Stop it. Sit up and figure out your next move.”
I dumped some scotch in my mug of coffee and took a sip. “You’re right. It’s good.”
“I’m right about everything.”
“Not sure about that, but you were sure as hell right about what would happen if I told Nate.”
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t hard to predict. I’ve seen his type. Black and white. He deals in facts and can’t handle shades of gray.”
I sipped my coffee, mulling over Frisco’s words. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
“Of course I am. So with the dust a little bit settled now, call and talk to him.”
“No. You didn’t see his face and hear what he said. He told me to get out…” To my embarrassment, my voice hitched, and Frisco averted his eyes, surprising me with his sensitivity by giving me a chance to regain my composure. “He never wanted to see me again.”
I managed to get dressed every day, but inside I ached, still bruised from our last encounter. In the two weeks I hadn’t seen Nate, I found it impossible to draw a deep breath.
“Press, he said that in the heat of anger. He also told you that he loved you. That doesn’t stop in one second. Even I know that.”
I stared into my mug, recalling the expression of disgust and anger in Nate’s eyes. “It did. Trust me.” I set my mug on a late nineteenth-century coffee table I’d discovered rooting around upstate and had restored. “It’s over.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Those big blue eyes of Frisco’s spit fire. I tried to break my gaze away, but he clamped his hand on my shoulder and held me in place. “You willnotspend another six years moping around like someone stole your puppy. I refuse to allow it. That’s bullshit. You’re going to speak to him again like a rational adult, and if he still says no, then fuck him. His loss, and youwillmove on.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered.
His fierce gaze softened. “No, it’s not, babe. But it’s worse to see you get hurt again. You take everything to heart, and I know when you fall, you fall hard. But at least this time there’s a chance. Nate isn’t married, and he loves you. He might think it’s over, but trust me, he won’t be able to forget someone as special as you so quickly.”
“You’re more optimistic than I am. And who are you to lecture me on love?”
