In a way, we met this way: on the threshold of a space I’m trying to keep him out of.
“Tegan just fell asleep,” I say quietly, by way of explanation for how I barely opened the door a crack, sliding my body out into the hall sideways before guiding the latch on the handle closed so it would only make the barest snick when it shut behind me.
I’ve kept myself close to it. My back against the wall beside the door.
Across the narrow hallway, Adam looks less giant-sized than he did to me that first time. Part of it, I guess, is the way he’s standing—his back against the wall, too, his feet planted a foot or two away from it, costing him a few inches of height. Another part, probably, is that he doesn’t have his comparatively tiny, extremely tenacious boss standing beside him.
The worst part—the very worst part—is that even the tallest, broadest, strongest man you’ve ever seen will seem different to you once you’ve had your arms around him, once you’ve known him up close. Once you’ve seen how his heart works, and heard it beat against your ear while he held you.
He swallows. “Is she okay?”
“Not really.”
He tips his chin down in acknowledgment, and the silence between us stretches. I can hear the muted sound of a television coming from one of the rooms, and the Jess of two weeks ago would definitely have the energy, the focus, to say that we need to go somewhere where we can be certain no one will hear us.
I’m not that Jess right now.
“I was going to text you,” I say, at the same time Adam says, “I know you asked me to leave you alone.”
Neither of us, obviously, smiles at the awkward overlap. Neither of us even bothers following up. I was going to text him; he knows he’s not leaving me alone like I asked. It doesn’t really matter now, because we’re both out here in the hall, and I have a feeling we both know nothing good is going to come of it.
“I didn’t stay,” he says.
“What?”
“I didn’t stay with Salem. I helped her set up some things for recording, and then I came here.”
“Adam,” I say on an exhale, shaking my head. “I told you to stay.”
“I didn’twantto stay.” His voice reveals the first flash of temper. “If you think I wanted to stay even another second in a room with a woman who—”
“Please don’t.” I press a hand to my brow, hearing the sharpness in my own voice. But I cannot hear him talk about her. I cannot think about what he heard.
I always knew that when she fell for someone
“I got us a flight home,” I blurt. “Tegan and me. We’ll head to the airport soon.”
His jaw firms. He’s so frustrated.
I can’t face that, so I change the subject again.
“Is she still there? Salem, I mean?”
“I don’t know.”
He sounds as if he has never cared about anything less.
“I assume someone will contact me. To tell me what the plan is for the story. Later, maybe we—or Salem and me, or whoever—can talk about the voice act—”
“Jess.”
I look down toward my feet. I think I’ll throw these shoes away when I get home. I can’t see myself wearing them at work ever again.
“Is this it for us?”
I am terrifyingly close to tears at the plainness of his question. The artlessness of it. It’s nothing like the questions someone gets asked in an interview.
I don’t say a word.
