Page 23 of Every Silent Lie
This has an expiry date, and I really don’t want it to.
With a few directions from me, Dec delivers me back to my office, and we stand on the pavement, face to face. “Don’t go to the bar tonight,” he says out of the blue, catching me off guard.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t be there.”
“Oh.” I drop my gaze to my shoes, disappointed. “Is that why we did lunch with no lunch?”
“Yes. Tell me you won’t go to the bar tonight.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
Because now I know I won’t see you, I’ll need a drink. “Because I want to go to the bar tonight.” Not that bar. Any bar.
He takes one step closer, looking down at me, our chests one inhale away from touching. “Please.”
He knows. But he doesn’t know. “Okay,” I whisper, wondering what the hell my mouth is playing at. And my heart. What business does it have beating so fast around this man? And my head. It’s thinking things it shouldn’t be thinking. “I won’t go.” I look up at him and see his appreciation. “When will I see you again?”
“Get your phone,” he orders gently, pulling his from his coat pocket and holding a hand out for mine. I unlock it and pass it to him, and he types in his number and calls himself. “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay.” I don’t have a moment to wonder if he will kiss me, because I’m suddenly completely enveloped in his body, being hugged like I never knew I needed to be hugged. My arms lift to his back and hold on, every inch of me softening into him. I really like being held by you, Dec Ellis.
He’s pulling away too soon. “Speak later,” he says, turning and leaving me on the pavement, desperate for another one of those hugs.
“Speak later,” I whisper, as always, unable to rip my eyes away from him walking away. “Dec,” I call. He stops and turns. “I can’t have children.” What the hell am I saying? Where did that come from? “I mean—” Oh God, he must think I’m completely off my rocker. We’ve had a few drinks. A few walks. I pull up and rewind. No. It’s more than that. Because I thought I was emotionally dead, and yet he’s made me start feeling again. “I can’t have children,” I say again, my eyes focused past him, something inside unwilling to see his reaction.
“Camryn,” he calls, and I dare to look at him. “Me neither.”
My entire being deflates, the rush of air that leaves me making the top half of my body fold over, too much to hide my relief. And my lip wobbles. My eyes sting. My heart bursts. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he mimics. “Can I go, now you’ve got that off your chest?”
“You don’t smile much.”
“Neither do you.”
“I smiled earlier when you asked me to lunch.”
And he smiles. It’s like the sun breaking through a black, stormy cloud. And I think I fall in love with him on the spot. The thought jars me.
Fuck.
I pivot on my heels, hurrying into the building.
Smiling.
December 7th
I went straight home after work yesterday and waited for his call. It came at nine, and the rush of blood to my head made me dizzy, no matter how hard I tried to control it. I faced up to myself in the mirror—had a stern word with myself—and repeatedly stated that I’m not falling for him. I can’t fall for him. And then I answered his call, heard his voice, and was freefalling once again.
I can’t have children.
Me neither.
The question is, does he want them?
