Page 137 of Play Book

He shakes his head. “There’s that but again. Knock it off. Do you love her?”

“Yeah.” I give him a dirty look.

Because I almost say but again.

“Then there’s no but. You tell her how you feel. Ally doesn’t get to dictate who you love or when you get to love them. She’s eleven. She’ll come around. You’re in therapy. You’re doing all the right things. Plan adventures together. Disneyland. Movies. Let the girls go shopping. Ally is jealous because Saylor is someone who will potentially distract you. As long as you show Ally that it’s not the case, that you’ll still have time for her and that the three of you can spend time together, she’ll realize that having more people who love and care about her is a good thing.”

“She asked me why no one ever put her first…how can I put her first and still give Saylor the attention she deserves?”

“Saylor is a grown woman with a busy career, her art, and friends. She knows that Ally needs to be a priority right now.”

“Then why did she break up with me before I could articulate that?” I demand.

“Because she loves you enough to want to make things easy for you.”

“Why does that feel really shitty?”

“Maybe because you know you hurt her.”

Fuck.

The last thing I ever want to do is hurt Saylor.

And somehow, I did it anyway.

“Let me rally the troops,” he says quietly. “Stevie, Marty, Harper, Gabe… whoever feels up to going out to dinner. Chey and I will follow you to the gallery so we can take Ally with us and give you time with Saylor. The rest, my friend, is up to you.”

“I still don’t know what to tell her,” I mutter.

He rolls his eyes. “Start with I love you. The rest will be easy. I promise.”

I really want to believe him, but I’m fucking terrified.

“It’s going to take me at least thirty minutes to get out of here,” he says. “So you have time to get your head out of your ass.”

Tell her I love her.

I can do that.

Can it possibly be that simple?

Could saying the words really fix everything that’s fucked up right now?

I hope so.

More than anything.

FORTY

Saylor

“Russell.” Horror and fear rip through me with enough ferocity to make my vision blur, but I can’t let him see it.

“Move away from the door,” he says in a raspy voice. “Now. Don’t make me hurt her.”

He’s the stalker.

Jesus.

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