Page 13 of Cruel Winter with You

I don’t get it.

“Honestly?” I say to interrupt it. “I came across the footage while looking for the Cartoon Network for one of my patients.”

“Ah. Well, that checks out. Youarealways working.” There is something in his tone—like he’s riding the thin line between laughingwithme andatme, daring me to remember our last conversation.

“Are you really too busy, Jamie? Or are you just fucking terrified?”

So much for safe topics. “Was it fun? Giving the testimony?”

“Explaining why crypto is bad to a nonagenarian senator who has no working knowledge of the internetdoeshave its moments.”

I chuckle. “I bet. And how’s the ...” I wave my hand, vague. “Stocks?”

“Which ones?”

“Um . . . yours?”

He leans back, amused. His face reminds me of that picture of him at some kind of interview or convention, the one I saw online a few months ago. He looked sogood, I decided it must have been photoshopped.

Clearly I was wrong.

“Would you like to know what their market value was at last closing?”

“Um, yeah. Sure. Though I’m not certain how stocks work, so a simplegoodorbadwould suffice.”

“Good.” He purses his lips, curious. “You never cashed out, Jamie.”

“Huh?”

“When I first started the company, you insisted on investing in it. And then you never sold your shares, even though they could make you quite a bit.”

“Right.” I shift on the cushion. “I know. I haven’t gotten around to it, but I’ve been thinking about doing that.”

“Have you?”

No. I haven’t—not once. Because even if I messed up, even if I can’t be with Marc, I like the idea of us being tethered by something. And if that something has to be market-traded equity, so be it.

“You don’t look too good, Jamie,” he says after a long pause, so quiet that I almost don’t hear him over the whooshing of the snow.

“Did you just tell me that I lookbad? Is this a return to our Butt Paper days?”

“You don’t lookbad,” he amends. “I don’t think you’re capable of it. But you do look more tired than I’ve ever seen you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Marc, I just ...” I shrug breezily, like nothing really matters. “I mean, it’s hard sometimes. I thought it’d get easier, but the further I get into my residency ... The hours are long, and my patients are really young, and sometimes they’re not ... Sometimes I can’t do much for them. And then I go home and am exhausted, but I can’t fall asleep because I can’t think about anything else, and I don’t want to be alone with my spiraling brain, so I go to the gym and by the time I get back, I end up being too tired to sleep and ...” I shrug again. Overkill, probably. “Wow. Could you please forget everything I just said? Because I’m pretty sure that it makes me sound like a total loser.”

“Not a loser. Just lonely.”

His tone isn’t mocking or accusatory, but I still feel like I should defend myself. Especially after our last conversation. “I’m not, though. I have a roommate I get along with. And lots of friends. And colleagues who—”

“I don’t doubt that. You can still be lonely.”

I glance down at my knees, unwilling to admit how right he is, but he forces me to meet his eyes with a finger under my chin.

“You can always call me, you know? Even if you don’t want to ...” He takes a deep breath. I want to touch him so bad, my heart could explode. “I know we’ve been over this stuff. But even if you don’t want anything to do with me inthatway ... I’m still your friend, Jamie. You can call me.”

Can I, Marc?CanI call you?“I’m not sure that’s true,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

“It is.” His brow is quizzical. “You can. Anytime.”

---