Friends Without Benefits

“Nico, we’re going around in circles. You’re not responsible for what she did.”

“But I’m responsible for wanting to be with you, for introducing all this craziness into your life. The paparazzi, the media, the stalker? Those are because of me.”

I sniffled, determined not to cry. These tears would be tears of frustration and anger. I couldn’t lose it, not yet, not when I had him on the phone, not when we were talking for the first time in days.

“Being with you is my decision.”

“You said yourself that I pushed you into this.”

“I was out of my mind with worry! I was reacting without thinking—”

“You need time—”

“I need you!” I growled at him, at the phone. I was suddenly angry with the phone because it felt like a barrier between us.

Again I was met with silence.

I huffed, dug my nails into my palm as a reminder to stay calm. “Nico . . . listen to me.” My voice wavered, shook dangerously. I had to take three calming breaths before I could continue. “Yes, I did just go through something terrible; there was a minute, a moment where I thought that I might die.”

Nico cursed again. It was a whispered curse, both impressive in creativity and vehemence.

I continued. “And when you go through something like that you realize what is really important, what matters, right?” I paused, hoped he would fill in the blank before I said it. When he remained silent I supplied the answer. “You. You matter. We matter. We belong together. You’ve known it for eleven years and I’ve known it for five days. You can’t take this away from us.”

“I’m not.” He didn’t sound at all convinced of his own words. My heart constricted painfully. “I’m giving you the space and time to be sure, to be certain. I’m sorry for not returning your calls, I wanted to—you can’t know how much—but I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“You’re pushing me away.”

“I’m not pushing you away!” His voice rose; I could sense his frustration through the phone. “Do you think I like this? Do you think this is easy for me? It’s not! It’s f**king hell!”

“Then why?”

“Because, regardless of why you said it, you were right. You were right about everything, especially when you said that you never wanted this, never wanted me.” It hurt to hear him repeat the words back to me. I hated myself for saying them. I hated my short temper.

“I even admitted it to you last week, at your knitting group. I told you I was playing this as a game to win. I don’t want you to be with me and then leave me when you realize what life will be like, with the paparazzi, with all the crazies. I want you to be certain. And we can’t build something on a shaky foundation. We can’t be together because I pushed you into it.”

“Why?” My voice cracked. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“Elizabeth . . .” He paused. For a second I thought he was going to hang up, but then he continued. “I’m not walking away. I’m not pushing you away. I’ll be back next week and we’ll talk about what comes next.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything else because I could feel my mounting anger, the next words out of my mouth would likely be ill-advised, reckless, and hateful. I needed to calm down.

“I love you.” His voice was soft, like a lovely caress. I knew he meant it.

My tears burst free with a suddenness that surprised me. I closed my eyes again at the onslaught and managed to respond in an extremely watery voice. “If you love me then stop hurting me.”

We were both quiet for a long time. I listened to his silence, and he listened to my silent sobs.

Finally, because I knew I needed sleep, and because I needed to rip off the band aid if I had any hope of recovery, I said, “Goodbye Nico.”

And I hung up the phone.

Chapter 27

It was still Tuesday, and I was not knitting.

I woke up to administer Angelica’s afternoon infusion and spend some time with both her and Rose. Just being around Angelica did wonders for my spirit. She was bravery and joy defined.

When the time came to depart I was surprised, upon walking out the door of the penthouse, that I now had four bodyguards assigned to me.

My entourage and I meandered down to my apartment. It felt lonely so I invited them all in. Only two took me up on my offer. Luckily the girls came soon after, and, when they arrived, the guards left to take their posts by the door.

I’d already filled my ladies in on as much detail as I could manage.

I told them about the not-date with Dr. Ken Miles: some of the elevator discussion, glossed over the more explicit details of Thursday night, told them about the Friday morning kinda, sorta marriage proposal, the lab coat incident, my freak out in the elevator, our fight early Saturday morning resulting in his speedy departure, then finally all about shoot out in the doctors’ longue.

Sandra promptly pulled me into my bedroom, and we left everyone else in the living room, reeling from my story.

“Let me tell you how it’s going to be,” Sandra glared at me, her face was severe, rigid. “You are going to make an appointment with this person.” She pressed a card into my hand. “You are going to talk through what happened yesterday. Additionally, you are going see them for no less than six months to work through all the other pain and loss you’ve suffered. Do you understand?”

The card she handed me was for a trauma councilor, and I had every intention of making an appointment.

I didn’t object.

I nodded dutifully.

I slipped the card into my pocket.

She studied me and my passive, accepting response; her face morphed from stern to pensive concern. “Now I know something’s wrong.” Sandra reached for my shoulders and pulled me into a tight hug. “Oh, peanut.”

After another squeeze, Sandra pulled far enough away to watch my face. “Are you okay to go back out there?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I feel . . . horrible.” We both smirked at each other.

“Yes. I imagine you do. You went through a lot last night.”

“Honestly, I haven’t even started processing last night.” I rubbed my forehead with my index and middle finger. “The time, apart from Nico, has been really difficult.”

She nodded then threaded her fingers through my hand, tugged me toward the living room. “Come on. I know that this is a subject that should be discussed with an audience and alcohol. If I don’t let Fiona have her say on the matter she might frog my work in progress.”

Sandra tucked me under her arm and led me back into the living room. At first they didn’t stop knitting, just looked between Sandra and I as we entered.

“Are you going? You have to go see someone.” Fiona narrowed her eyes at me as I took the seat next to her.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“If you don’t call then I will call for you, tie you up, and drag you there.” Her tone was very motherly, matter-of-fact.

I gave her a small smile that didn’t reach my eyes, though usually it would have. “I know. I promise.”

I glanced around the room and found that everyone was watching me with sympathetic eyes. I wanted to crawl under the table. I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted help. I wanted them to help me figure out how to talk some sense into Nico.

Abruptly Sandra shouted, “I call shenanigans! No one in their right mind would fight against falling for that hunka hunka burning love!” Sandra waved a thick wooden knitting needle through the air as though it were a wand. “He’s smart, he’s crazy sexy, he’s over Venus in love with you, and he’s got those Johnny Depp eyes—except they’re green.”

I said nothing as I was momentarily stunned by her shift in tone and mood.

Sandra poked me with her needle, winked. “I don’t understand why he left in the first place.”

Then I realized what she was doing. She was trying to turn the topic away from the events of the previous evening; she was trying to give me some space. She was a great co-pilot.

“You should have called us earlier. We could have come over on Saturday night. Why did you wait until today to tell us all of this?” Marie’s expression was a cross between concern and exasperation.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“At least you should have called us immediately about the stalker and all that craziness yesterday.” Ashley’s face was shadowed with concern. “That’s a scary meatball right there.”

“For the record, I don’t think you necessarily overreacted in the elevator on Friday, especially given the situation, what you’d just been through. And also, in hindsight, she did turn out to be dangerous.” Kat gave me a supportive smile.

“I wish I’d said nothing at all on Friday,” I mumbled. “Maybe he was right to leave.” Now I was just being morose and purposefully obtuse.

Sandra clucked with abject horror. “Those are damn lies! Just stop fighting it, Elizabeth. Give yourself over to happiness and stop being such a wanker!”

“I’m not fighting it, okay? I just—I mean, maybe he’s right? Maybe I do need time. Aren’t I allowed time?”