CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Olivia
DEAN IS STILL NOT HOME WHEN I get back to our apartment this evening. He called Kelsey earlier to tell her he’d left the art fair, but he didn’t answer his cell when I tried to call him. I spent the rest of the afternoon working mindlessly at the bookstore. My stomach is a knot of anger and regret.
I stare at the Christmas tree in the corner, the twinkling lights reflected in the windows. I think of the first Christmas Dean and I spent together, four months after we first met. A fairy tale—dark woods, tangled vines, handsome princes and all.
I press my hands to my eyes and try to breathe. I don’t know how we will ever fix this. If we ever will.
At eight, I change into my nightgown and crawl into bed, staring at the pattern of light and shadows on the ceiling.
Dean is the only man I’ve ever wanted. The only man I’ve allowed into my body, into my heart. The love of my life, who taught me more about happiness and pleasure than anyone else ever has.
So I don’t understand why I felt the way I did for Tyler Wilkes. I don’t understand why it was easy to kiss him, why I gave in to the pull of attraction. Had I wanted Dean to find out?
The thought stops my breath.
Dean has never been threatened before. He’s never had reason to be. I have always been the starry-eyed girl who melted at his touch. I let him into places even I didn’t want to go.
He knows he has all of me. And yet when he told me about his first marriage, I discovered I hadn’t had all of him.
When I kissed Tyler, had I wanted to shift the balance between me and Dean? Warn my husband that I could keep part of myself separate from him too?
Except that I didn’t. I could never have kept that kiss a secret from Dean, no matter what he kept secret from me. Even now, he has all of me.
I hear Dean close the front door and toss his keys onto the counter. Then he appears at the bedroom door. He looks windswept, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, his hair messy, as if he’s been running.
The sight of him—this man I still love with everything I am—makes my whole body ache with longing and sorrow.
Tension falls like a curtain. We stare at each other. When he moves closer, I can see the anger edging his muscles, the planes of his face.
He stops by the bed. His hand drops to the button of his jeans.
“Don’t say no,” he says. His voice is rough.
I can’t tell if it’s an order or a request. I don’t care. I shake my head.
I won’t say no. I don’t want to say no.
He works the buttons of his shirt and yanks it off his shoulders, then unfastens his jeans. His erection is already pushing against the fly, and arousal curls through my despair at the sight of the long, thick length.
He grabs a fistful of the comforter and pulls it away from me, his dark gaze skimming my body beneath my nightgown. Aside from a pair of cotton panties, I’m naked underneath the thin cotton, and his scrutiny alone makes my nipples peak. I suppress the sudden urge to cross my arms, to hide.
He kneels beside me on the bed and runs his hand over the front of my body, his fingers sliding beneath my breasts and tracing a path to my belly. Although his touch is achingly familiar, the intensity of his expression, the edge of lingering anger, creates a flare of both apprehension and excitement in me. My heart pounds, my blood heating.
Curving his hand around the back of my neck, he pulls me forward, his mouth locking against mine. His kiss is hard and insistent. He smells like night, like the wind. He thrusts his tongue past my lips, a deep invasion that incites a spear of lust.
I grasp his arms, urging him closer, wanting his weight on top of me. He straddles my hips, his erection pressing against my belly.
“Did he get this close to you?” His question is an accusation.
I should say no. No. The word screams inside my head.
Instead, I look up at him and whisper, “What would you do if he did?”
A firestorm of anger flares behind his eyes. I suck in a breath as a riotous combination of arousal and anxiety rises in me. Dean lowers his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my cheek.
“I’d fucking kill him,” he mutters.
He yanks my nightgown up and presses his hand between my legs, one finger probing beneath the elastic of my panties into the cleft of my sex. I gasp, bucking my hips upward, seeking his entry.
He whispers something low against my mouth, then captures my lower lip between his teeth and bites. A twinge of pain spurs my arousal higher.
I pull away from him and stare into his eyes. “You never thought I could be attracted to another man, did you?”
“Goddammit, Liv.”
“You thought I’d always be the good girl who couldn’t possibly—”
His lips bruise mine with the ferocity of a kiss, forcing me open, pressing me down. I dig my fingers into his arms and wrench my mouth from his. Our breath mingles hot and heavy between us. My blood throbs. His eyes are almost black. Something feral flares in his expression, a sense of possession I’ve never seen before.
You are mine, Olivia. Mine.
He doesn’t have to say it. Even through the storm of emotions, the heat swamping us both, I still know the truth.
Yes. Yours. Always.
His mouth crashes against mine again, and I open for him, melting, gasping under the delicious onslaught. He grabs a fistful of my hair and angles my head to deepen the kiss. My hands find his jeans—unfastened, but still on—and I shove at the waistband, writhing beneath the increasing pressure of his fingers between my legs.
“Dean. Take them off.”
He shifts to rid himself of his jeans and boxers, and then he moves naked over me, all hot, tense muscles and damp skin. He pushes my nightgown up past my waist, rips the panties off my legs, and spreads my thighs. His first hard thrust jars my entire body, filling me with sweet, aching pressure. I close my thighs around his hips and scrape his back with my fingernails.
Wild urgency spirals through me. Sweat pools on my throat, drops rolling down between my breasts. Dean pauses for a second to tug my nightgown over my head, and then he groans low in his throat at the sight of my bare breasts.
That reaction alone almost makes me come, but I don’t want it to be over, not yet, don’t want this exquisite pounding rhythm to end.
I don’t want him to let me go.
I close my eyes and wrap my arms around his back, moan as he pushes deeper, faster. He grips my hair again and tugs hard enough to make me open my eyes on a gasp.
“Look at me.” His order is low, rigid.
I stare at him, his face glistening with sweat, the burn of his eyes. I’m aroused by his anger, by his unyielding control.
It’s both an apology and a punishment, this frantic, desperate fucking. My breasts jostle against him, his chest hairs abrading my nipples. Tension builds tight and fast, the pressure almost unbearable.
I thrust up against him, sink my teeth into his shoulder, taste the salt of his skin. Tears spill from the corners of my eyes.
He shoves his hands beneath me, grips my bottom to haul me closer. His breath is harsh, hot against my throat, his groans vibrating into my blood.
I open my mouth to draw in a lungful of air. My veins sear with heat. Pleas fall from my lips in an endless stream.
“Dean… oh, God… harder, please… make me come… please, please…”
I writhe beneath him, shifting and pushing and rubbing. Aching. He eases back far enough to edge a hand between us and splays his fingers over my clit. One touch and I fly apart with a broken cry, convulsing around his hardness, digging my fingers into his shoulders.
As shudders rack my body, he thrusts deep again and comes inside me. My name wrenches from his throat on a growl of pleasure.
He collapses on top of me, his weight delicious against my sweaty skin, his chest heaving. I press my face against his shoulder, my cheeks still wet with tears. He puts his hand on my neck and turns my head for another hard, possessive kiss.
I’m trembling, gasping. He eases to the side, slides a hand down to my sex again and rubs, as if he knows I’m not finished, that I need more. His fingers are so adept, so familiar, that I come again within seconds, sobbing his name, clutching at him.
He wraps one arm tight around me, stroking the sensations from me until I start to calm. My heart slows, the pulsing ebbs.
We’re silent for several long minutes. Breathing. I can’t look at him. I’m sore everywhere, inside and out.
He moves away from me, and then we’re no longer touching.
“Christ, Liv,” he whispers. “What the hell are we doing to each other?”
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I press my hands against my eyes to try and stem the tears that will not stop. After a few minutes, he gets off the bed and goes into the bathroom.
I lower my hands and stare at the ceiling through blurry eyes. Moonlight eases past the curtains, painting the ceiling with a broken pattern.
We can’t do this anymore. Can’t keep hurting each other. Our marriage has always been an island, a safe place where sea-dragons and monstrous creatures can’t reach us. Now we’re letting them in, gnashing teeth and all, and we are failing to protect each other.
I wipe my eyes, climb out of bed, and dress in jeans and a sweatshirt. The sound of the shower comes from the bathroom.
Trying not to think, not to feel anything, I take a duffle bag from the back of the closet and throw in a few changes of clothes and underwear. I open the bathroom door, refusing to look toward the shower where I know I’ll see Dean’s body outlined against the fogged glass. I toss a few other toiletries into the duffle and hurry to the kitchen.
Halfway out the door, I remember that my car is very low on gas. The shower is still running when I toss my key-ring on the counter, grab Dean’s car keys, and leave our apartment.
Thank God there is a light on in Kelsey’s house. I tried to call her on my cell phone first, but her machine picked up. I didn’t think I could explain without bursting into tears again, so I just drove over. I grab my bag and head up the steps to her tidy bungalow nestled on a quiet street called Mousehole Lane.
Shivering, I ring the bell and wait. She pulls open the door.
“Liv? What are you doing here?”
“Sorry, Kels, I tried to call.” Part of me notices that she’s wearing some expensive silk pants and a flowy tunic kind of thing.
She looks at my duffle bag and frowns. I don’t have to say anything else. At least, not now. She knows.
“Get in here.” She gestures me into the foyer.
I drop my bag on the floor and unbutton my coat, then stop. I sniff. “Is that incense?”
To my shock—and unexpected but welcome amusement—Kelsey actually flushes a little. I peer around her shoulder at the living room, where the lights are low and several sticks of incense glow in a special holder. Classical music drifts from the speakers. Then I see a guy sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in his hand.
I duck back into the foyer and whisper, “Oh shit, Kelsey, I’m sorry. You’re on a date.”
She waves her hand in dismissal. “Never mind. He’s been after me for months. He can wait a little longer.”
“I’m not going to ruin your evening.” I reach for the door handle, but she snaps the lock shut and gives me a stern look.
“No, you are not,” she replies, then grabs my arm and marches me into the kitchen. “But you are going to tell me what the hell happened. Wait here.”
She shoves me onto a barstool at the counter and disappears into the living room. The front door closes. When she returns, she’s carrying two glasses of wine.
“What about your date?” I ask.
“I sent him home. I’ll deal with him later.” She deposits a glass of wine in front of me. “Now talk.”
I can’t talk because the tears are choking my throat again. I swallow some wine. “You first. Who is he? Why didn’t you tell me you had a date tonight?”
“His name is Adam, he’s an engineer at SciTech, and we met when I went over to talk to them about a new computer modeling program. He’s totally not my type, but like I said, the guy’s persistent so finally I agreed to give him a chance. And he did bring good wine.”
She takes a sip and nods in approval.
“Why is he not your type?” I ask.
“Oh, you know.” She waves a hand like she’s swatting at a fly. “Conservative, conventional. But this is not about—”
She stops as a loud banging rattles the front door.
“And here comes the Incredible Hunk.” Kelsey rolls her eyes and indicates I should stay seated as she slides off the stool. “He sounds pissed.”
Although I feel like a coward for letting her contend with Dean alone, I know she can handle him better than I can right now. His angry voice comes through the door, which I assume Kelsey has wisely not opened with the expectation that he would crash through.
My cell phone rings. I don’t answer it. The front door bangs again, hard enough to shake the hinges. I gather a breath and go to the foyer, where Kelsey is standing with one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip.
“Let him in, Kelsey, or your neighbors are going to call the police.”
“I’m not letting him in.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your cell.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and give it to her. She dials a number and waits, tapping her foot impatiently. The thumping on the door stops.
“Dean, shut the fuck up, okay?” Kelsey snaps into the phone. “I’m not letting you in. Liv is here, she’s safe, and you both need to cool down before you talk. Got it? So quit banging on my goddamn door like you’re storming a castle. Go home, take a cold shower, have a drink, and call Liv tomorrow.”
I can hear Dean’s angry voice through the phone, but can’t make out what he’s saying.
Kelsey gives a long-suffering sigh. “Dean, I’m not unlocking the door. Liv doesn’t want to talk to you right now. And if you don’t leave her alone, I’ll call the cops. Don’t think I won’t. How do you think the university will react when they hear that distinguished Professor West was arrested for acting like an ass?”
He’s still yelling at her, but Kelsey ends the call and hands me the phone. “Keep it off. Let him yell at voicemail.”
She puts a hand on my shoulder and steers me back to the kitchen. We both wait a few minutes, but there’s no more noise. Kelsey pushes my wineglass back in front of me as we sit down at the counter again.
“God, now we all need a drink,” she mutters, downing half her wine in one swallow. “How’d he know you were here?”
“Probably an educated guess when he realized I’d taken his car.”
“Okay. So talk to me, Liv.” Kelsey stares at me from behind her glasses, as if knowing I have no defense against her penetrating blue gaze.
Which I absolutely do not.
With a groan, I cross my arms on the counter and thunk my head against them. “Oh, Kelsey, I fucked things up bad.”
Admitting it to her makes my tears swell like a tidal wave. All the pain and anger of the past few weeks boils up inside me. I start sobbing so hard that I can’t hear what Kelsey is saying, but she stays beside me, stroking my back and letting me cry.
When the tears finally ease a little, I lift my head and swipe at my eyes.
Kelsey hands me a tissue. “Don’t get snot on my counter.”
“Sorry.” I scrub at my cheeks and blow my nose.
Kelsey props her chin on her hand. “So you kissed another man.”
“Yeah. Big mistake, obviously.”
“Dean said you liked it.”
I look at her. “He told you that?”
“You’re surprised? You told him that, apparently.”
I groan and bury my face in my hands. “You know how bad things were, Kelsey. I was… I don’t know. The whole thing was so screwed up, and then with the pregnancy scare… Dean’s the only one I ever wanted, and then we had this big fight… and Tyler was just there. He was nice and he liked me and it was so simple compared to the mess going on with Dean.”
I gulp down another wave of sobs.
“He’s cute, too,” Kelsey says.
“What?”
“Tyler. The chef.” Kelsey takes another sip of wine. “Not all hunky and masculine like Dean, but adorable. Can’t say I blame you for wanting to kiss him.”
“Kelsey, you’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m telling you the truth.” She sets her glass down and looks at me. “So you told Dean, and he’s still pissed.”
I nod and rub my finger over a line in the granite countertop. I can’t tell Kelsey anything else. Not about how Dean is the only person who has made me feel safe, protected, and unconditionally loved… until now.
I can’t tell her that our recent troubles have tilted my entire world off its axis. I can’t tell her that for the past four months, I’ve been terrified. That I haven’t been so scared in years.
“Why did you leave him?” Kelsey asks. “What did he say?”
“He won’t let it go,” I admit. “You saw how he acted at the art fair, like he was ready to beat Tyler into the floor. He’s still so mad. And I don’t know what to do to make it go away.”
“So he’s not so much upset about the actual kiss as the fact that you liked it,” Kelsey says. “Well, he’s a guy. You’re his woman. I can see how that’d be a hard blow to his ego. I’m sure he’s entirely forgotten that he’s capable of being attracted to other women.”
“I don’t think he’s forgotten that. He just wouldn’t act on it.”
Kelsey leans her head on her hand and narrows her gaze. “Look, Liv, you made a mistake. You admitted it. You’re sorry. You’ve tried to make it right. And frankly, I think you’ve done all you can.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. The ball’s in his court.” She pours more wine into her glass. “Dean is older and more experienced than you. A lot more experienced. He’s known other women. He knows you. He just hasn’t grasped yet that you needed to feel something for another guy to realize just how much you love him.”
I stare at the light reflecting off the wineglass.
“I don’t think he’ll ever understand that,” I say. “I barely understand it myself.”
“Look. Dean’s had a lot of girlfriends. A lot of experience with women. He’s been loved, he’s loved them. He’s been hurt, he’s hurt them. He had all the highs and lows before he met you. So since meeting you, he’s never looked back. He never had to. He knew you were the one for him, and that was it.”
Kelsey swivels around to face me.
“You, on the other hand,” she says, “were totally thrown off by Dean’s reluctance about a baby.”
Not to mention his revelation about his ex-wife. I don’t know if he would ever tell Kelsey about that. I certainly won’t.
“It’s no surprise you started doubting both Dean and your marriage,” she continues. “It’s no surprise you started wondering what it might have been like with another man.”
“I didn’t wonder…” My heart plummets. “Oh, hell.”
Kelsey’s mouth curves in triumph. “It’s okay, Liv. Dean’s never had to wonder about other women because he went through it all before he met you. You didn’t. And this whole recent fuck-up just meant you had to figure out now what Dean already knows.”
“God, Kelsey.” I rest my head in my hands. “Why aren’t you a psychologist?”
“Because my friends are the only people I give a damn about.”
She collects our glasses and heads to the sink. I’m quiet for a minute as I try to process everything she’s said.
“Will you please explain all that to Dean?” I ask.
“Hah.” Kelsey rolls her eyes again. “He’s a man. He’ll give me a blank stare, tell me I’m full of shit, then go off to pummel a punching bag.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
She squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’ll get it sooner or later.”
I’m not so sure of that. Fatigue settles hard in my bones.
“Is it okay if I stay here awhile?” I ask. “Just a day or… a year or so.”
She smiles. “You know you can stay as long as you need to. I even have a quilt you can use.”
She brushes her hand over my very tangled hair. “It’ll be okay, Liv. And you know I love Dean, but this mess is his fault too. You’ve done what you can, and if your husband doesn’t get his shit together fast, I’m coming down on him like an anvil.”
The following day there’s one message on my phone from Dean. His voice is tense. “Liv, this is between us, not Kelsey. You tell me when you want to talk.”
I don’t call him back right away because I don’t yet know what to say, but I listen to the message three times. Dean probably doesn’t even realize how those two sentences encompass so much.
Everything we’ve ever been through has only been between us. And once again, Dean is giving me the choice of determining what happens next.
After having breakfast with Kelsey, who thankfully does not mention Dean, I head to the bookstore for the Sunday morning shift. Allie is busy planning a kids’ holiday and cookie-decorating party.
“I thought we could also have some craft stations where kids can make menorahs and Christmas ornaments and stuff,” she says as she peers at the computer. “Then we’ll have storytime, of course, and I’ll put up a display of holiday books. Think you can advertise this at the Historical Museum? Like if you get some school tour groups?”
“Sure. I’ll print out flyers and bring them with me tomorrow.”
Allie glances at me as I straighten the boxed calendars in front of the counter. “You okay?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You look kind of tired.”
“Oh, just holiday stress or whatever.” I wave my hand dismissively.
“Sure that’s all it is?” Her eyes narrow behind her purple-framed glasses.
“Yeah.” Her scrutiny makes me uneasy. “Why?”
“I was wondering if you’re… you know.” Her voice lowers to a loud whisper. “Preggers.”
Shock bolts through me so fast I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. “What?”
“Well, remember we were talking about having kids?” Allie says. “And I’ve seen you looking at the pregnancy books. I figured you and Professor Hottie were trying to get pregnant.” She tosses me a grin. “God knows I’d be trying three times a day if he were involved.”
There’s a lump in my throat. I can’t even respond. Dean and I haven’t talked about the idea of a baby for weeks. The topic has disappeared into the mess of everything else.
“No,” I finally manage. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh.” Allie stares at me. “Oh shit, Liv, did I put my foot in it? You’re not having fertility issues, are you? Because my sister had to take these shots for a while, but you know, now she has three kids and they drive her crazy but they’re all adorable and perfect and she and her husband are happier than ever.”
I laugh, even as tears sting my eyes suddenly. I go around the counter and give Allie a big hug, which she returns with a hint of puzzlement.
“What’s this for?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I’m just really glad you’re my friend.”
She smiles, pleased. “Thanks. You’re pretty great too. Now get back to work before I ask you to the prom.”
“Hey, speaking of dating, how’s it going with Brent?” I ask.
“Really well,” Allie says. “He even invited me to visit his parents on Christmas Day. They live down in Rainwood, so we’re going to see my dad in the morning and Brent’s parents in the afternoon.”
“Where does your dad live?”
“Here in town. He’s got a place on the other side of the lake. He’s a nutjob but I love him. He’s the one who convinced me to open a bookstore. He’s all about following your bliss and voodoo stuff like that.”
“What would you have done if you hadn’t opened the bookstore?” I ask.
“I dunno. I was an art major in college. Again not because it was the practical thing to do, but because my dad convinced me I should do what I wanted to do.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“I’m not. Catastrophic failures at several art shows convinced me of that.” She gives me a rueful look. “Hence the bookstore. Which now isn’t doing so great either.”
“You’ll think of a way to turn things around,” I say. “You just need a different angle.”
Allie shrugs and turns back to the computer. “Yeah, well, if you fall seven times, you get up eight, right?”
Right.
I head out around noon and walk to where I parked Dean’s car at the curb. Sunlight glints off the shallow piles of snow lining Emerald Street, and the sky arches clear and blue overhead. As I wait for the engine to warm up, I finally work up the courage to call him.
“What do you want me to do, Liv?” he asks.
My heart pounds. “I think we should go to counseling again.”
His breath escapes on a hiss, but he says, “Fine.”
I blink. “Fine?”
“Yeah, I’ll go with you, if that’s what it takes.”
The tension in my shoulders eases. I know Dean hates counseling, finds it uncomfortable and awkward. He doesn’t like the personal questions, the expectation that he’s supposed to rehash everything about his life—stuff he’s long done with. But he’s gone before for my sake, and the fact that he just agreed now gives me a surge of hope.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll call Dr. Anderson and ask if she can refer me to someone in the area.”
“Okay.” He pauses. “I want to see you.”
“I want to see you too, but I think we both need a few days apart.”
The air on the other end of the phone vibrates with irritation. “What did Kelsey say to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did she tell you not to see me?”
“Kelsey doesn’t tell me what to do, Dean. I can make my own decisions about us.”
“I know she told you something. What was it?”
His irritation bites at my own nerves. “We figured out that between this mess about a baby and your revelation about an ex-wife, it’s no surprise I wondered what things would be like with another man.”
His curse is so sharp that my stomach roils.
“You told her about Helen?” he snaps.
“Of course not.” I know I should stop, that this is unfair, that this will only hurt us more, but I’m suddenly flooded with images of Dean and another woman.
“No one ever talks about Helen, do they?” I ask acidly. “Not even you.”
“Goddammit, Liv.”
I take a breath and try to fight the churning emotions. I can’t stop the painful thoughts still whipping around my mind like a tornado.
I gave you everything I am. Why couldn’t you do the same for me?
“I’ll call you later this week.” It’s all I can manage to say before ending the call. I shove my phone into my satchel and head back to Kelsey’s house.
She comes home shortly before dinner after having stopped in at her office, ranting about some grad student who is doing a poor job with his computer modeling.
She changes into a caftan, then pours herself a glass of wine. After she’s done fixing a plate of chips and salsa, she sits at the counter and gives me one of her laser-beam stares.
“You talk to Professor Marvel today?” she asks.
“Yeah. We agreed not to see each other for a few days.”
She barks out a laugh. “You mean you told him you didn’t want to see him for a few days and he got all hot under the collar again.”
I groan and press my fingers against my temples. She pats my shoulder.
“He’s a guy, Liv,” she reminds me. “One who is very accustomed to getting what he wants.”
I know that all too well. I reach over to help myself to one of her chips.
“Hey, Kelsey?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you ever do anything with Dean?”
She glances at me. “Would it bug you if I did?”
I’ve never thought about it before, but I don’t have to. I don’t like to think about Dean with his many former women—and I really hate even the idea of his ex-wife—but Kelsey is different.
She’s my best friend too, and she’s gold throughout even if she can flatten you with her stare alone. If I weren’t around, I’d want Dean to be with her.
“No,” I say. “I’m just curious.”
“No.” Kelsey piles a chip with salsa and pops it into her mouth. “Dean and I have never done anything.”
“Not even in college?” I ask.
“I was into girls in college.”
This is news to me. “Really?”
“Yeah. Call it my experimental phase. Lasted two years.”
“So what… uh, what made you go back to guys?”
“Oh, a couple of studs my senior year, then a long-term boyfriend in grad school.” Kelsey flips her hair away from her face and reaches for her wineglass. “Great guy, smart as hell. Great sex too. Made me realize I preferred hard muscles and harder dicks.”
“What happened to him?”
“He wanted to get married, which obviously wasn’t my thing. Plus I got a job offer and we went our separate ways.”
She shakes her head. “Nah, Liv. Dean’s one helluva package, but we’d never screw up our friendship. And we’d be lousy together anyway. Always snarking at each other and fighting like dogs over who gets to be on top.”
It’s true Dean and I haven’t had that problem before now. We just took turns.
I reach for another chip, then drop it. I sigh and climb off the barstool.
“Hey.” Kelsey nudges me with her elbow. A crease forms between her eyebrows. “You guys will get through this.”
Two weeks ago, I would have agreed. Now I no longer know what to believe.