Jovi shakes his head. "Horse stuff. I'll handle it."
"By risking another fall off the roof?"
"I didn't bring a skateboard this time," he says, eyes cast out toward the pastures and the eastern property lines. "No need to worry about me falling."
"I wasn't worried."
"Liar." His laugh is softer this time.
"They need you down there," I say, pointing at Crow standing beside a truck, the driver's side window down as he jots some information down on his clipboard.
"I know," he says. "I'll be there in a sec."
But he doesn't make a move to go back inside.
Neither do I.
JOVI
It's at the tip of my tongue to tell her, to give her the full scope of what we're dealing with, of the threat Brennan has made against the business. Me. Her. The fucking kids.
She deserves to know. We're partners, maybe not to the extent it's becoming achingly clear to me I wish we were, but in this, we're partners. And as my partner, she deserves to know.
But I can't fucking get myself to tell her.
I meant to. All fucking week, I meant to go and see her. To talk to her. To brainstorm, discuss options, come up with a solution. Together. Like we have for everything else since we found ourselves thrust into this mess. But then I thought of the way her eyes held light for the first time in months the night she saw Dee on stage. How the vivid green and bright blues I've seen dimmed for months, grew brighter after we kissed. And fuck, I couldn't bring myself to be the one to snuff them out again.
Now, sitting here with her, I can't help but see that someone or something else already did. Unless it was me anyway. Maybe my attempt at shielding her only resulted in hurting her more. We've hardly spoken. And even though she's brought me dinner every night and I've made sure I kept the kids busy outside every afternoon so she could work at least a few hours every day, she might have felt like I was avoiding her. Which I was. But fuck, not like that.
"Christ, I'm an idiot," I mutter out loud.
She looks over, a flash of surprise in her eyes and shaping her mouth. "What?"
"I dropped this whole fucking bomb on you Saturday night, and then I just—"
"It's fine," she cuts me off before I can finish. "It was good actually. Gave me time to think."
I frown, taking in the tone. The tight lines of tension in her jaw. "That doesn't sound like it went well."
"It did." She nods, as if unaware we're disagreeing. "Because I remembered something I lost sight of in coming here."
I can feel my scowl growing deeper. "What's that?"
"I'm my mother's daughter," she says, the empty sound of her voice sends chills down my spine. "I'm not built for commitment. For long term. I can't be depended on. Not like you."
"What the actual fuck are you talking about?" I damn near snarl like I'm an animal, a strange primal rage unleashing in my chest. Not toward her. Never toward her. Only on her behalf. An animalistic need to protect her. Even from herself. From this bullshit she's been telling herself her whole life. Ever since words once meant as endearment became a curse. She's just like her mother. But for whatever wonderful qualities she shared with the women, all Liz hasever focused on is how her mother left. How she ran out on everyone and everything in the middle of the night. And never looked back.
"I wanted to do this," she says, her voice still hollow. "For Lena, I wanted to. But I can't. And the sooner I accept that, the sooner I'm honest about it, the less it will hurt the kids in the long run."
I blink, unable to make sense of what's happening. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm going to let Tammy and Abe raise the kids. If you still want to save the business, to ensure the kids are set up in the future, that would obviously be amazing, but I think everyone would understand if you let it go. Went back to your own life."
I swear, my heart stalls out for several beats. "Is this because of what happened? Between us? Is that why you're freaking out?"
"I'm not freaking out. This has nothing to do with us. But it is one more reason why an us shouldn't even be considered. I always thought you were just as fucked up as I was, commitment-phobe and all. And maybe that's why I let it happen, why I let you kiss me. Because it was safe. It was nothing. Temporary."
Every word is like a punch to my chest, but I say nothing. Brace myself for each hit as I listen.
