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Zoe had pretty lips. Soft and pink and the perfect frame for her smile. Not that she ever smiled at me anymore.
Not that I’d given her a reason to.
“Liam,” she said with a sigh, “what do you want?”
My brow furrowed. “To apologize.”
She searched my face before she spoke again. “Right, but beyond that. Do you need anything from me?”
“No.”
“Okay. Because I have nothing in my emotional tank for you right now.” She gestured to the house, where the sound of Mira crying had only slightly abated. “She gets everything I have. I can’t coddle you. I can’t make you feel better about ... whatever this is.” Then she lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “So you’re forgiven. For telling me I look like shit—”
“That’s not what I said.”
She gave me a warning look.
Again, I held up my hands. “Fine.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive you yet for not helping, though,” she said. “Maybe in time, I will.”
My jaw clenched, and I stared down at the concrete of her front porch. “Fair enough,” I ground out.
The screaming intensified until it reached a sharp crescendo, and Zoe let out a ragged sigh. When I glanced up, she had her eyes squeezed shut and a hand covering her mouth. As she dropped it, I saw a warning tremble of her chin.
Oh no.
No.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Shit,” I mumbled. “Please don’t cry,” I begged.
She sucked in a breath. “I can’t help it,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I’m so, so tired.” Another tear slipped out.
Briefly, I raised a hand to ... I wasn’t sure. So I scratched the back of my neck.
She covered her face with both hands, and her shoulders shook. “You are the last person I want to cry in front of, trust me.”
My hand reached out again, and I patted her shoulder. Awkwardly. Just a few short taps.
“There, there. It’ll be ... it’ll be fine.”
She dropped her hands to stare incredulously. “Seriously?”
“Well, I’m assuming you don’t want me to hug you,” I said, feeling slightly affronted.
“No.” She scrubbed her face again. “I’d cry more if you did.”
“Then I definitely won’t.”
Zoe exhaled a sound that might have been a laugh under any other circumstance. Her eyes were slightly red and her cheeks pink. Her hair was a mess. There really were dark circles under her eyes, the exhaustion stamped all over her face. And somehow, quite impossibly, she was still so beautiful that I could hardly look at her.
I hated it.
“I don’t know how people do this alone,” she said. “It’s so hard.”
The words came out so quietly, almost like she’d never meant to admit them aloud.
