Page 138 of Haze

Ansel:

Call me tonight again? I’ve a question about this damn book you sent me.

Henri (Cade’s Publicist):

We should talk. There’s some stuff going down, and since you’re in the city more, there are things you need to know about how to handle questions from the media.

Only one of those text messages is important.

Tucking the paintings back into the storage crate and closing the lid, I sigh. They’ll get hung up eventually.

I open my phone, and the only person I want to talk to is sitting right at the top of my contact list. I click his name, and the phone starts to ring.

“Hello?” Ansel picks up after the second ring.

“Hey, Ansel.” I walk over to my bookshelf. “Which book are you looking at?”

“Treasure Island,” he answers, and I can hear the frustration in the way he grumbles out the book’s name.

I pull the identical copy I bought myself off the shelf and plop down on the couch. “Alright, what’s up?”

“Are they actually looking for treasure?” Ansel sighs. “Or is this one of those metaphor things.”

“The plot is actual treasure,” I confirm for him. “But the treasure is a metaphor.”

“Okay, so this is like that ‘all that glistens’ stuff?” Ansel’s phone rustles, making it sound like he’s holding it to his ear with his shoulder.

“Exactly like that,” I answer.

I wait for more questions. Even though he sounds super frustrated, I know he’s not angry. Ansel asked me to help him get better at reading, and like the movies I send him, I preview everything. He’d be so proud of himself if he knew what level he was reading at. I’m saving a whole progress chart for when he celebrates his birthday though.

We spend ten minutes talking about Treasure Island before Ansel wraps it back around to polite conversation. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” I stall talking about myself. “How have you been?”

“Doin’ alright.” Ansel’s slightly grumbly tone tells me he knows I just dodged him, but with his usual patience, he answers me. “It’s been touch and go since Cade left. Was sorry I had to miss the wedding, but there was no way. You know how things go with the guys. I hear wedding cake is an experience, and I wanna try some. So I’ll have to catch the next one.” Ansel laughs before circling back to me to try again. “What about you? You feelin’ better? Gave us quite a scare, Lena.”

“I’m feeling better. Everyone is so concerned about me and my wolf all of a sudden, but what’s new?” I let my brain focus on remembering how he looks when he talks.

“You’ve always been special. I suppose it’ll all work out in the end.” Ansel sighs and goes silent for a minute. “Do you wanna know? I know you never have.”

“No.” That answer is easy for me. I don’t want something affecting my choices. I swallow hard. “I do have a question for you. And... it’s not, I don’t know.”

Ansel blows a raspberry. “I’m not gonna like this question, am I?”

“Probably not,” I concede with a groan. “What’s it like? With Harry being not right?”

“Oh, Lena.” Ansel’s voice holds sorrow and sadness as he says my name. “I don’t know any other way than to have him this way. I don’t think other people would tolerate it all that well, but he and I make it work.”

My body shivers, and I try to brush off my emotions, pulling the blanket off the back of the sofa.

“I’m sorry.” I sigh and close my eyes. So insensitive. Why did I ask?

“Don’t be sorry, Lena. It is what it is, and if somethin’ happens, you know I’ll do everything I can to keep you together.” Ansel somehow makes it all better with sage wisdom delivered with a slight twang. The one man who probably could use the most therapy somehow knows what to say. “Give yourself some time to heal.”

“You sure?” I ask softly. “What if I can’t do it?”

Ansel laughs. “I’m sure. Quit being so hard on your damn self.”

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