Page 34 of The Best of All
Zoe had pretty lips. Soft and pink and the perfect frame for her smile. Not that she ever smiled at me anymore.
Not that I’d given her a reason to.
“Liam,” she said with a sigh, “what do you want?”
My brow furrowed. “To apologize.”
She searched my face before she spoke again. “Right, but beyond that. Do you need anything from me?”
“No.”
“Okay. Because I have nothing in my emotional tank for you right now.” She gestured to the house, where the sound of Mira crying had only slightly abated. “She gets everything I have. I can’t coddle you. I can’t make you feel better about ... whatever this is.” Then she lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “So you’re forgiven. For telling me I look like shit—”
“That’s not what I said.”
She gave me a warning look.
Again, I held up my hands. “Fine.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive you yet for not helping, though,” she said. “Maybe in time, I will.”
My jaw clenched, and I stared down at the concrete of her front porch. “Fair enough,” I ground out.
The screaming intensified until it reached a sharp crescendo, and Zoe let out a ragged sigh. When I glanced up, she had her eyes squeezed shut and a hand covering her mouth. As she dropped it, I saw a warning tremble of her chin.
Oh no.
No.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Shit,” I mumbled. “Please don’t cry,” I begged.
She sucked in a breath. “I can’t help it,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I’m so, so tired.” Another tear slipped out.
Briefly, I raised a hand to ... I wasn’t sure. So I scratched the back of my neck.
She covered her face with both hands, and her shoulders shook. “You are the last person I want to cry in front of, trust me.”
My hand reached out again, and I patted her shoulder. Awkwardly. Just a few short taps.
“There, there. It’ll be ... it’ll be fine.”
She dropped her hands to stare incredulously. “Seriously?”
“Well, I’m assuming you don’t want me to hug you,” I said, feeling slightly affronted.
“No.” She scrubbed her face again. “I’d cry more if you did.”
“Then I definitely won’t.”
Zoe exhaled a sound that might have been a laugh under any other circumstance. Her eyes were slightly red and her cheeks pink. Her hair was a mess. There really were dark circles under her eyes, the exhaustion stamped all over her face. And somehow, quite impossibly, she was still so beautiful that I could hardly look at her.
I hated it.
“I don’t know how people do this alone,” she said. “It’s so hard.”
The words came out so quietly, almost like she’d never meant to admit them aloud.
