Page 71

“We’ll get back to that. But first I want to know what you won’t tell me.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Jesus.” I want to throttle him. “I do or I wouldn’t be asking you.”

He pauses. “I guess you’d only be asking me if you’re actually listening. All right. Here’s the truth: You didn’t love Becca.”

Gritting my teeth in fury, I jump to my feet. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s not. I watched you two for years. She was your friendly helpmate. You were her savior. She respected you. You relied on her. But that’s it. And that’s not love.”

“You don’t know the first fucking thing⁠—”

“How often did you and Becca have sex?”

“That’s a low blow. You know she had a lot of personal demons to overcome and⁠—”

“How often?”

I rake a hand through my hair. “Maybe every couple of weeks. It always took her time to…deal with it.”

“Uh-huh. And did you want it more? Feel desperate when you couldn’t have her?”

“Sex isn’t the only measure of love.” I don’t know why I’m so defensive.

“It’s a fucking big one. Compare that to the way you want Nia. Think about how much you crave her when you can’t have her.”

His logic punches me in the gut. I can’t breathe. For a moment, I’m stunned and disoriented.

“If not love, what do you think I felt for Becca?”

“Responsibility and guilt. I’m not saying you didn’t like her. She took care of your life. Hell, she was able to put up with you. And you were faithful to her for months after she died. There was nothing wrong with that. It’s commendable. You weren’t unhappy with her. But look me in the face and tell me that being with Nia isn’t somehow brighter, more intense. Like the difference between flipping on a light and sticking your finger in a socket. Like staring at the sun and being willing to go blind for the privilege because you can’t not look at her.”

No, he’s right. His words seem to have unraveled the tourniquet around my perception. Suddenly, I see my marriage from a completely different perspective.

I’ve missed what Becca did for me. I’ve missed the space she filled beside me. Have I actually once missed her yoga pants hanging from the shower door? Or the way she used a whole bag of oranges to squeeze her juice every Sunday? Have I even missed the way she’d curl up to me after having a nightmare about her foster father? If I’m being brutally honest, no. I haven’t kept her possessions because I’m loath to let my last vestiges of her go. I’ve kept them because I haven’t wanted to admit I’m alone and I haven’t wanted to expend the energy to make that even more obvious.

“So you think I still have my heart to give…and that I should give it to Nia?”

Bas shakes his head. “I think you had your heart to give until a few weeks ago, but it’s Nia’s now. But you should stop trying to put labels on what you two have and just go with it.”

“Go with it?” I raise a brow at him. “You’ve met me, haven’t you? You know I’m not good at that.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you suck. But here’s the thing: If you keep fucking around with this, trying to name it and figure out how it fits in your practical view of the world, she’s going to slip through your fingers. Then I think you’ll grieve the loss of a woman for the first time because she won’t come back. Then, you’re right, there might not be any recovering. And you really will spend the rest of your fucking life alone.”

As I march up Nia’s walkway, the icy rain pours, sluicing down my face and seeping into my clothes. I really don’t care. I hit the button of the fob of my sedan, drag the suitcase I didn’t even bother to unpack, and start pounding on her front door.

“Nia! I need to talk to you.”

The whole drive over, I considered what Sebastian said, pondered the probability that he’s right. Am I in love with Nia and I’ve been too blind to see it? I need more time with her to know for sure, but the concept no longer feels impossible.

Mostly because I’m beginning to suspect he’s also right about the fact I didn’t love Becca.

That fills me with guilt. Shame. I’m an asshole for that, right? My wife devoted her life to me, and I didn’t give her even half of myself. As least I know now why I would rather have been with Nia than Becca on Thanksgiving Day. I also know why my sex drive has been in hyper mode since I first touched the assistant I should have left at a professional distance. And I definitely know why I challenge Nia and her feelings, rather than simply placating her. They matter. She matters.

How the fuck did I not see any of this?

Suddenly, she opens the door. She’s wearing a berry-colored pajama top and a coordinating pair of floral pants that are far more practical than sexy, but at the sight of her, instant need fires through my blood.