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“Well, she does listen to you.”
“What?” Cherish blinked twice before looking up.
“Ms. Aarts. She listens to you.” Haylee had her lip between her teeth again.
The sharp pang was bad in Cherish’s skull, threatening to take over what little work she had managed to get done so far that day and ruin the rest of it. She would be up half the night just making up for it so they could keep up tomorrow. “She doesn’t listen to me.”
“You literally just told her that the interview was my idea and she listened to that.”
“I told her the truth.” Why was Cherish so damn defensive?
“Right. Jackson’s friend died.”
“What?” Cherish frowned, a line creasing in the center of her forehead. Had she missed part of the conversation? They were jumping all over the place.
“He died two months into his first tour.” Haylee swallowed hard, her fingers clenched tightly in her lap. Her eyes filled with tears.
On impulse, Cherish reached over and covered Haylee’s hands. Her skin was so warm, the hard lines of her fingers sharp in comparison. Cherish ran her thumb along the top of Haylee’s hand, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Was she going to confess that Jackson had died too?
“He wasn’t the only person who died, or who came back changed. So many people were affected.” Haylee’s face shifted, as though Cherish could see her intentionally separating herself, her own emotions and experiences from the conversation.
“Haylee—”
Febe’s office door opened sharply. “Cherish. My office, now.”
Caught between a rock and a hard place, Cherish nodded at Febe sharply. “I’ll be right there.”
Febe disappeared into her sanctuary, and when Cherish looked back up at Haylee, the moment was gone. She removed her hand begrudgingly and put it in her own lap. She squinted against the brightness of the lights and swallowed down the nausea rising in her belly. She’d never let anyone know how bad the migraines had gotten.
“You better go,” Haylee mumbled before she stood and started back toward her desk.
Cherish reached out and snagged her hand, stopping her. She looked up, their gazes locking again. Her mouth opened, but she had no idea what to say. I’m sorry? PTSD? So many people have been through that, more than we can count? You’re not alone?
But words failed her.
Miserably.
Haylee sniffled and rubbed her hand under her nose. She turned her back, and her feet dragged on the short carpet as she went, the sound stark in Cherish’s ears.
She’d missed something.
Cherish hadn’t done something right, and the knowledge of that plunged into her heart like a knife, twisting hard before stabbing in again. First, she failed Febe, and now Haylee? She wasn’t sure she could come back from this.
“Cherish!” Febe’s voice carried into the office suite.
Right.
That was the woman Cherish had to deal with immediately. She was the one who was Cherish’s priority. She always had been. Everyone suffered loss, but nothing compared to what Febe had been through. Nothing.
“I’m coming,” Cherish called as she stood up, dragging her gaze from Haylee’s retreating form. If only she could stop everyone from hurting.
ten
The cool air rushed over Haylee’s flushed skin as she stepped into the building. Crushes were fleeting, and love never lasted. Everyone knew that. Everyone with half a brain and any experience in the real world knew that for a fact. She just had to remember it every time she thought of the sweet smile Cherish gave her, or the direct look when Haylee managed to surprise her.
And she had to stop letting that spur her to do it even more.
Already the air conditioning was cranked up, ready and prepared for the onslaught of suits and heels to clack and swish briskly through the ground-floor lobby. Haylee was going to miss that rush, but in her desire to meet Ms. Aarts’s needs, she was going to need to give up some of those simple pleasures.
