“I found something in my father’s closet, and it, it turns out…” I trail off.
“What did you find?” Zayn asks sharply.
“A… toxicology report. It showed a host of medications that were found in my father’s system when he died. You see, he was sick before he died. He had cancer.”
Looking down, I take a small sip of my wine. I hadn’t told Bea any of this on the night of the attack. I didn’t quite know how to.But as with everything with Zayn so far, it just came so naturally. So easily.
I tentatively glance back up and see Zayn regarding me over the top of his own glass of wine, which remains untouched. Again, he gives me space to say more if I want to.
I exhale a long breath and launch in. “He had pancreatic cancer. He knew that he was going to die. I guess… I guess he was in a fair amount of pain. He wanted to end it on his terms. Hence the suicide,” I finish lamely.
Zayn leans forward, his eyes trailing over my face. He seems to be on the verge of saying something. His mouth opens, and then closes, before he subtly shakes his head back and forth. A low hum emanates from the back of his throat, and he leaves his chair to come to my side. He kneels there before me and takes my hand in his.
“I’m so sorry, Katherine,” he begins, “this must be tough news to process.”
“It is,” I choke out, swallowing down the hysteria I’ve been holding at bay ever since the night of the attack.
“It really is,” I continue, on the verge of sobbing now, “because what does itmean, Zayn? What does it mean that my own father didn’t trust me enough to tell me this? To share this with me and allow me to help him? I would have! I could have even…” I trail off, as hot tears streak down my cheeks.
Zayn’s thumbs stroke them away before they can fall.
“You couldn’t have saved him, Kat.” His voice is quiet.
My eyes narrow as I look over his face. He was right, of course. But his words do nothing to assuage the flicker of anger that burns inside of me.
“I could have fucking tried!” I cry.
Zayn’s lips flatten to a thin line. He takes the wine glass from my hands and sets it down on the table.He exhales slowly.
“I don’t know why your father didn’t trust you with this, Katherine. My best guess would be that he didn’t want to burden you with it, worry you unnecessarily. Make your life harder. But listen to me:Itrust you, baby. Inherently. With every decision. With my life, even. I wonder what it would be like for you to practice that same self-trust. To step forward and make your decisions with confidence.”
I peer up at him through watery eyes. My fingers find the hem of my sweater and pick at a loose strand there.
“You doubt those around you as a way to protect yourself. That’s why you keep others at a distance, and don’t let them in. Maybe this is a chance for you to trust more, and often, regardless of the outcome.”
He regards me tenderly and waits. Again, he seems to be on the verge of saying something more. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he simply clasps our hands together in my lap.
“Could you practice trusting inthis?” he asks, squeezing our joined hands together. And then he smiles at me, taking my face in his hand.
I sniff as I look down at our intertwined fingers. A rush of warmth floods my chest.I feel myself nod yes before I make the conscious decision to.
“Maybe you should be the therapist,” I tease, returning his smile.
“Baby,youare my therapy,” he says, kissing my forehead.
I let loose a long sigh. He was right,again,about all of it. He saw me accurately. Knew my flaws, knew me.I’m curious what Dad would have thought of Zayn. I get the distinct impression he would have liked him very much. They were similar. Steady. A striking coincidence.
Feeling better having finally shared, I reach over and scoop up another delicious mouthful of the food he prepared for us.
God, I could get used to this.
Zayn grins. “Okay, baby. Finish up your meal and come meet me in the shower in ten minutes.” He leans forward into my space as he adds with a whisper, “I’m going to press you up against the tile and lick you until you scream.” I choke on my sip of wine, laughing nervously until I meet his eyes once again.
His expression betrays no sense of humor or joking. Instead, his gaze darkens, and an electric zing runs down my spine.
“I’m serious baby. I’ve waited all day to fuck you and I won’t wait much longer. Ten minutes.”
Jesus Christ. I wasn’t saying no to that.
