Page 78 of Close Match
“No?”
“I figured I’d cry, be angry for a while under the stars. Then I figured I’d go to bed and do more of the same.”
“Schedules suck.”
“Says the man who’s changed mine so I’m running before breakfast.”
“Those hills are easier to conquer earlier in the morning.”
“Ah, so that’s the trick.”
“No, the trick is to run them more often.” Her infectious laughter lights up the night between us before the silence lapses again.
“Monty?”
“Yeah?”
“Did I say thank you?”
“For what?”
“For not looking me up the minute you knew who I was. That…it meant something to me.” Her voice is hesitant.
“I caught on to that. The media doesn’t like you?”
“In general, no. But I’m more than that. I…I want you to know that from me.”
I’m fighting a war with myself because I already know she’s more than just the acclaimed Broadway actress. That’s not the problem. The real issue is that she’s also digging her way deep into my heart.
“I promise. I’ll wait to learn what I need to from you.”
Her heartfelt words almost feel like a touch on my skin.
“Thank you.”
* * *
After sayinggood night to Linnie, I go back inside. Stripping out of my clothes, I turn on the shower while I stare at my reflection over the mirror. I turn away when I see what I always do: an unworthy man who looks beat to shit. Now, I can see a new layer of guilt on top of all the others that were seeping into my skin, making me look years older than I actually am. An already complicated situation just became more so with Linnie Brogan’s arrival.
I’m lying to a woman I’m beginning to deeply care for.
I’ve got to figure out a way to get Ev to tell her and soon. These might be the last few months of his life. I can’t screw anything up by not honoring the promise I made to him. The problem is the closer I get to Linnie, the more I’m betraying her.
Stepping into the shower, I duck my head under the spray, wishing the water sluicing over me would drown me in wisdom. Instead, all it does is makes me ache for the weight of my mind to be lifted. I could follow my gut, which is pointing me to protect the woman right next door, not the man one floor up and across the other side of the house.
Forty-Three
Evangeline
Chaos reigns at breakfast the next morning. There are two entirely different conversations going on at very high volumes. My father and Monty are arguing about baseball. Across the room, Char is on the phone discussing an upcoming 5K for the American Cancer Society being held in downtown DC that is sure to muck up traffic.
I’m grinning when Ev catches my eye and winks. “Typical,” he mouths at me.
“Fun,” I mouth back right before the knife I’m using to slice up some fresh strawberries slips and catches me across two fingers. “Shit!” I cry out in pain. Throwing the knife so I don’t ruin breakfast, I pull my bloody hand away. Char, hearing me cry out, spins around. Her face takes on a whitish hue seeing the blood. I feel horrible for ruining everyone’s morning this way.
Ev’s heading toward the pantry. “I’ll get the first aid kit,” he calls out.
Monty is at my side in seconds, even as I’m grabbing a towel to wrap it up. “Let me see,” he demands.
