Page 22 of Look My Way
“I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing his wrist softly, and he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Do you at least get to see them? Do they ever visit you?”
His expression hardens and he shakes his head slowly. “No. They don’t want to be around me much anymore. They don’t see me as more than my MS.”
I find that hard to believe somehow. This is a family who seems to care so much. His sister knows him well enough to give him all the right gifts and send them through the mail requiring zero communication from his end. “That’s a shame. I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told me. I mean, we all have struggles.”
“I think when I first got diagnosed, my onset fatigue was an inconvenience for them. Daniel said they told him it was probably better if he kept me home from the last Christmas party my parents had. That it would be easier for me to rest here whenever I felt weak or worn down, so we didn’t go.”
Daniel said this, huh? I’m noticing a pattern with this man. “Have you tried talking to them yourself?” I pry some more.
“No . . . I mean, I’ve tried to call once or twice but it went to voicemail. My mom keeps changing her number, and in her last text my sister told me I needed to stop putting her through so much stress and heartbreak.”
My brows push together. “Maybe a case of miscommunication. They seem to be okay with talking to your boyfriend. I’d maybe try paying them a surprise visit. Are they far away?”
“Two hours. Daniel says it’s too far for me to drive myself, and he hasn’t had much time off to take me.”
“Daniel sure does like to assume he knows more about what you can handle than you do. Is driving hard for you usually?”
“Sometimes I get tired quickly or get blurred vision from bad headaches, but not all the time. I try not to test my limits to find out.”
This man uses everything he can to keep Liam in place, doesn’t he? I’ve felt something off about him since the first day we met, but as I hear more about his and Liam’s relationship, I’m eager to give him a taste of his own medicine. To use his fears andinsecurities against him. “I’ll go with you,” I offer. “That is if you ever really want to go.”
“You would?” His eyes light up. “But aren’t you busy? It would probably be a whole day of driving.”
“I’m okay with that and also with taking over when you need me to. Owning my business allows me to make my own schedule. Let me know when and I’ll make the time.”
“Okay.”
There’s that word. It’s something he needs to do of his own accord, because he wants to, and not because he sees my offers as orders but as opportunities he has a choice in. “Alright. Should we go inside before this food gets too cold?”
His gaze lands on my arm tucked around a brown paper bag, and he laughs awkwardly. “Oh, right. We’re supposed to be having dinner, aren’t we? Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all my depressing crap on you.”
“You didn’t. I asked and you told me. Feel free to vent whenever you need to. Like I said, call for anything—to tell me the birds are chirping too loudly in the window or that Daniel’s going to be home late again and you don’t want to be alone for dinner.”
His lips quirk into a smile. “You sure you want to keep reminding me of that option, because I might really take you up on it and you could end up regretting the offer.”
“Please do, and I wouldn’t have offered it if I’d ever thought I’d regret it.”
His stomach grumbles and I laugh, grabbing his hand. “Come on, carino. Let’s get some food in that belly of yours. All the walking and gardening’s had you work up an appetite.”
“I do feel like I could eat a whole grocery store right now.” His fingers squeeze around mine as he leads us to the kitchen table. He doesn’t let go of my hand until he needs to openhis container, his face stiffening. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was holding on to you for so long. I—”
I step forward, grabbing his hand again to caress it between my palms and kiss the tips of his fingers. “It’s okay. My hand is here whenever you need it and so is everything else of mine.”
His lips rub together, turning inward. Breaths stuttering, he traces his fingers around my mouth the way I did his with the napkin earlier. “We shouldn’t . . . I shouldn’t . . .”
“Why? Because someone else tells you not to? What do you want to do? What does in here tell you?” I guide our hands to his chest.
His lips part, eyes roaming over me. “All the wrong things.”
“What makes them wrong?” I tug at his shirt collar with my fingers, dragging the tips of my nails over his soft skin.
“I think you should go. Thanks for dinner but I . . . we can’t hang out anymore.”
“Is that really what you want?”
He sucks in a breath, gripping my fingers so tightly I squirm. “No.”
“I’ll tell you what . . .” My face dips closer to his. “If you really want me to leave, I will, but you have to say it. Tell me out loud that you want me to go—not that Ishouldbut that it’s what you want—and I’ll walk right out that door and recommend you another carpenter.”
