Page 41 of Tell Me When It's Over

“That’s when they make it up.”

I can’t argue with that. “What do you think they’ll say? Should I be worried about something, or…”

“No,” came his quick reply. “God, no. I don’t want to worry you over nothing. But this is the first time people will see me with my family in a couple years, Len. There’s been a lot of speculation to why that is. All bullshit, of course. It just gets tiring.”

Watching him unload with his eyes toward the ceiling makes me sad. He doesn’t want to be part of this, but he is. For Mia. For me. I know he keeps saying he knows what he’s getting into by being back, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. “I suck,” I declare.

His eyes swing in my direction, pinning me. “No, you don’t.”

“I do.” I hold my hand up before he can argue like I know he wants to. “You’re going through a lot because of me, and you can preach about how you want to, but save it. I know. You’d do anything for family.”

“Well—”

“For the ones you love,” I correct, eyes rolling at the way he was going to call out his father. Still. “You didn’t want to be in the spotlight because you wanted space. What if you came out and said that? Nobody could say otherwise then.”

The look he gives me is surprisingly considerate of the idea. “Like make a post?”

I nod. “It doesn’t have to be a long-winded video or anything. Just post a picture or something and caption it with a short explanation about why you’re not involved with her show. Stop the speculation. People will still talk, but at least they have no grounds. What about the photo Gordy took of you, me, Mia, Dylan, and your mom? That one was really nice. Plus, it’ll be great coverage for the episode tomorrow. Just don’t post any spoilers before it airs or Mia might murder you.”

He scratches his jaw and eventually nods along. I beam when he says, “That’s not a bad idea at all, Lele. The PR industry isn’t going to know what hits them when you’re working it.”

The snort that comes out of me is wholly unattractive and pig-like. “It seems like an obvious fix.”

“But I didn’t think of it.”

All I do is shrug again, feeling a little embarrassed when he looks at me with praise shining in those dark eyes.

He pats my leg. “Mind helping?”

My brows pinch. “On your post? Like, you want me to write it?”

“I’m capable of that,” he teases, deepening the fire under my skin. “But I wouldn’t mind you looking it over. Working your magic. Prove to Harry that you’re meant to be in this business.”

He must remember the time I brought up my interest in public relations during that incredibly awkward first family dinner. We’ve talked about it a few more times since, but he never seemed to believe I’d make a worthwhile career of it. Maybe it was because Harry wanted his kids to be bigger than the people they hired.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I roll it into my mouth. Kyler asks, “Don’t think about him, Lenny. He’s never going to be worth it. His approval is limited and it doesn’t matter.”

“It did once,” I admit softly.

His light eyes silently respond, but it doesn’t anymore.

I help him with his post that night, we watch three more episodes of Bob’s Burgers in near silence, and then we go our separate ways to bed after a much longer peck on the cheek than normal as a soft goodnight.

I’m not sure why, or how, I ended up in his room hours later. But sleep evaded me, and the darkness and silence engulfed me until I found myself padding to the bedroom door that didn’t belong to me.

My knuckles rap against the wood and I hear a strange sound on the other side, followed by sheets ruffling and a, “Lenny?”

I crack the door open. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah. You okay?”

Taking a few hesitant steps inside, I see the outline of him sitting up. I know he’s staring, but I can’t see him well enough to tell if I’d woken him. “I can’t sleep. I was…” I bite into my bottom lip and tug on the oversized tee of his that I stole to sleep in along with a pair of leggings. “Can I stay in here until I get tired?”

There’s a brief pause, so microscopic I almost wonder if I imagine his contemplation, before I hear his rough, “Sure.”

Walking over to the side of the bed that isn’t occupied, I slide under the covers and turn onto my side. “I’d normally try reading, but I hate reading on my phone.”

“What about all those paperbacks you had? You used to have so many I thought Mia and I were going to need to stage an intervention.”

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