Page 87 of Before I Let Go

“There’s a pullout in the living room,” Amanda offers, not helping. “Maybe you can—”

“No,” I cut in, my heartbeat ticking up with every ring of Harvey’s phone.

“Yasmen,” Harvey says, finally answering. “You guys here? How’s the hotel?”

“The hotel,” I say, “has us booked in one room.”

I let that sink in so he can absorb how disastrous this situation is.

“Oh, my new assistant must have mixed that up. She’s been making a lot of mistakes lately. She has this—”

“Harvey, forgive me for not giving adamnabout your new assistant, but do you have a solution?”

“They don’t have another room available?”

“No, some women’s conference is happening all over the city and the rooms are booked everywhere. You have to fix this.” My voice rises as the reality of our situation bears down on me. “We can’t—”

“Yas,” Josiah interrupts, his tone calm, even. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll take the pullout in the living room. It’s only one night.”

The world has been shaken in a matter of a day. One event can fundamentally change the course of our lives forever. I know it’s one night, but it will be our first time under the same roof overnight in more than two years.

I stare at him, and his expression is implacable, but it feels like a deliberate control he’s imposing on himself and, by extension, also on me.

And maybe it would work, would reassure me if the memory of that moment in the office hadn’t been haunting me the last few weeks. Standing between his legs, the strength of our wills clashing, emotion boiling in the air. As much as I try to disregard it, to believe it meant nothing, I’m not convinced.

Nothing has ever meant nothing between us.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, pocketing the key. “Trust me.”

How can I tell him it’s not him I don’t trust?

It’s me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Josiah

Harvey, you gotta fix this.”

I pace the hall in front of room 428, clutching the phone to my ear with one hand, gripping the back of my neck with the other.

“I thought you said you could sleep on the pullout,” Harvey says, clearly confused. “And it would be fine.”

“I lied.”

“What—why would you lie?”

“Obviously,” I say, lowering my voice, “because I don’t want Yasmen to know it’s not fine.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You’re not listening.”

“Yeah, I am. It sounds like you’re scared to be in the room for one night with your ex-wife.”

“Scared?” I stop pacing. “Pfftt.”

Great rebuttal.

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