“Work’s fine,” she sighed. “How’s Cuddy?” She’d been as shocked as Noah when he told her Cuddy’s confession. The last month had been fraught with change and new beginnings, but she and Noah were still tiptoeing around each other, not sure where to start.
“Cuddy’s pretty damn . . . amazing,” he whispered. “I like him.”
“I do too. Always have.”
“Mer?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope you don’t care that the mugs are a little . . . different . . . than the one I broke.”
“I miss my old mug,” she teased. “It spoke to me.”
He grunted. “I hated that mug. I never knew why you chose that specific one.”
“You hated it?” she said, surprised.
“Yeah. I didn’t like the ‘letting go of things not meant for you’ part. It pissed me off.”
“That was the part that spoke to me.”
He grunted. “I’m sure that’s the part that spoke to my mom too. She was good at letting go. But what about fighting for the things and people who mattered? Every time she used that mug, I wanted to throw it against the wall.”
Mercedes laughed, incredulous. “Well, I guess you finally did.”
“Yeah. I guess I finally did.”
Silence grew between them, and Mercedes knew she should end the call. But she missed him. He’d come to her house to tell her about Cuddy, about the revelation that had rocked his world, and she’d been shocked and attentive, holding him while he talked. But when he’d tried to kiss her, she’d stiffened in his arms, and he’d immediately pulled back, not pressing her. She hadn’t meant to stiffen. She’d been nervous. Scared. And he’d backed off.
“I love you, Mer. I miss you,” he said quietly, pulling her back to the present. “How can I make your life easier?”
“I love you too, but unless you can cut hair and wax bikini lines, I think you’re just going to have to support from afar.” She’d meant to be funny, but instead she sounded like she was brushing him off. Damn.
He sighed. “Will you call me tomorrow?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she promised. And with a soft goodbye, he hung up.
Noah had a staff meeting Monday night and didn’t get home until seven. Mercedes had a client who insisted on seeing her before she went on vacation, and the only time Mercedes could fit her in was Monday evening, so Alma took Gia until Noah could come by and grab her, and another week went by without them seeing each other at all.
When the weekend rolled around, Heather called Mercedes, concerned about Noah.
“He asked me to take Gia, and he didn’t tell me where he was going or what he was doing. He had all of Cora’s things packed up in the back of the car. I know everything’s probably fine . . .” Heather’s voice faded off.
The last time Noah had dropped Gia off for a long weekend with her grandmother, Mercedes had had to drag him from his bed, and the shower scene ensued. Even then, he hadn’t told her what was bothering him. Mercedes didn’t have a lot of faith he would tell her now.
Mercedes promised Heather she’d check on Noah, and Saturday night, when she finished her last client, she drove to his townhome only to find it dark and empty. She let herself in, took off her shoes, and sat down to wait for him. She tried calling him a few times, but he didn’t pick up. She waited for an hour. She made coffee and washed and dried the dishes in the sink. She waited for another hour. She called Montlake, but he wasn’t at work. She called him again. His phone went straight to voicemail. By the time she heard his key in the lock a little after ten, she was almost frantic with worry.
“Where have you been?” she gasped when he greeted her with a smile. He didn’t look strung out. He looked good. He smelled good. He gave her a quick hug and walked into the kitchen.
“I’ve called you a dozen times,” she complained, trailing after him.
“My phone was dead, and something’s wrong with the charger in my car,” he said easily, seeing the coffee and pouring himself a cup.
“Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“I was worried. Where were you?”
“I had a date,” he said easily, throwing the words over his shoulder as he reached into the fridge for the milk.
“A d-date?” she stammered, the words penetrating like a slice from a sharp knife. First the cut, then the realization, then the pain.
“Yes. A nurse from Uni. We’ve been friends for a while. She’s divorced, and . . . she’s nice. And I’m . . . single. I . . . just thought . . . maybe . . . we could,” he stopped, shrugging.
Mercedes turned away, so humiliated, so stunned and raw she couldn’t breathe. And she definitely couldn’t stay.
“Okay. Cool. Well, I’ll be here on Monday for Gia,” she bit out, searching for her shoes.
“Mercedes?”
“See you on Monday, Noah.”
“You’re upset.” He almost sounded pleased.
“I didn’t know where you were. I was scared!” she snapped. She stormed toward the front door. She had to get out.
“I’m thirty years old, Mer. I don’t have a curfew,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. He was so stupid. Such a freaking idiot.
She was going to cry.
She pushed her feet into her heels and grabbed her purse, not looking at him, not looking at anything but the door through which she needed to escape.
She felt him behind her, but she didn’t slow. She dug her keys from her purse as she walked and slid behind the wheel without looking at him again. He’d followed her from the house. He was a dark shadow to her left, lurking several feet from her car. She turned the key, backed out, and drove away, leaving him framed in her rearview mirror.
Since Cora died, Noah had never dated. He hadn’t spent time with any woman. Besides her. At least . . . not that Mercedes knew of. Going out on a date was not a betrayal, not of Cora. Not even of Mercedes. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that they were only friends. But that was before the fire. That was . . . then. She thought he knew how she felt. Didn’t he know how she felt? Cora was gone, and he deserved to move on with his life. And now he was. So why was she crying? Why was she howling in pain, driving through the streets toward home?
When she pulled into her driveway and slowed to a stop, she kept the car running, needing the warmth and the rumble of the engine to cover her anguish. Her duplex was dark and empty, and she didn’t want to be alone. She searched her glove compartment for a napkin and found a crumpled handful. She blew her nose and tried to fix her makeup in her visor mirror, only to give up as her tears continued to fall. Lights swung into her driveway and Noah’s Subaru boxed her in.
She should have known he would come. Maybe she had known. Maybe that was why she was sitting in her driveway, trying to make herself look pretty, even as she cried her eyes out.
She watched him step out, shut his door, and approach her car. He leaned down and peered at her through the driver’s side window.
“Do you want me to get in, or are you getting out?” he asked, raising his voice above the Corolla’s purr.
She turned the key, surreptitiously wiped her eyes, and pulled on her pride. Noah stepped back so she could open her door, and she climbed out, head high, slicking gloss on her mouth and offering him the other half of her slice of gum, the way she always did. The burst of icy flavor helped clear her head. She just hoped the darkness provided sufficient cover for her red eyes and trembling lips.
“Are you crying for Cora, Mer?” His voice was low. “Or are you crying for me?”
Clearly it provided no cover at all.
“I’m crying for me,” she confessed, angry that it was true.
“Why?”
“Because—because.” She ground her teeth. She couldn’t admit it. She couldn’t tell him. But she couldn’t be the other girl in his life. Not anymore. Not again. If she had to move aside and let someone else take his time and his energy, his words and his affection, it would destroy her. It would destroy them.
“Do you love me, Mer?” he asked softly.
“You know I do.”
“Yeah. I know you do. But that’s not what I’m asking. Not the way a girl loves her best friend. Do you love me the way a woman loves a man?”
She was silent.
So was he.
They stared at each other, considering, wary, watchful. The need to run trembled in her legs. The pull to stay was stronger. She was strong enough to hold her position, but she wasn’t brave enough to speak.
“You have been pushing me away your whole life,” Noah whispered. “I don’t know how to read you right now, so you’re going to have to tell me how you feel.”
“What are you talking about?” Mercedes gasped. “How have I pushed you away?”
“You are too honest, and we’ve known each other for too long for you to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Noah’s voice was soft, but his eyes were steely as he looked down at her.
“I have always been there for you. Always. I’ve never let you down, Noah. I’ve tried harder with you than with anyone in my life. I’m proud of who I am with you. I’ve been a damn good friend. Don’t you dare accuse me of anything else.” Her anger was hot in her belly, and it felt good, cleansing. It burned away her cowardice and put words on her tongue. She could work with anger.
“I’m not accusing you, Mercedes. I’m trying to understand you.”
“Well, understand this. I am not your sister or your nanny or your maid or your . . . your one-night-stand . . . or your . . . your—” The tears were gathering again, and she wanted to scream. She wanted to hit him and hurt him. She wanted to hurt herself. She wanted to hurt herself so that she would remember this moment—this pain—and never repeat it.
Then he was there, wrapping his arms around her, holding her so tight the scream died in her chest. She fought him for a moment, arching her back and pressing against his shoulders with the palms of her hands.
“You’re still pushing me away,” he rasped. “Why?”
She froze, realizing she’d proven his point, and she slowly wilted against him. She let him hold her, and after a moment, she raised her arms and looped them around his waist, releasing her pent-up breath and laying her cheek against his chest.
He pulled away slightly, his arms still locked around her back, and looked down into her face. In the pallid light from the street lamps, his blue eyes were as colorless as the dark, July sky.
“When I was a kid, I always thought it would be me and you. I was sure we were soulmates,” he said.
“When did you stop?” she asked, her voice low, sidestepping his confession.
“What?” He tipped his head to the side, confusion playing across his features.