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I waved the apology away. “It’s fine. I was just ... enjoying the quiet.”
As she took her seat behind the desk, she smiled. “Just to clarify, you’re Mrs. Valentine, correct? What a sweet name. You must love Valentine’s Day.”
“Zoe,” I told her. “Please call me Zoe.”
It was much easier to leave the Valentine’s Day comment untouched. For years, my dick of a (then) husband had ignored it because he thought it was too commercialized, and this last one had been spent with a sweet, thoughtful date who’d brought me my favorite flowers and cooked a delicious dinner at his house before cuing up my favorite movie.
Two weeks later, he had unceremoniously bolted after the surprise arrival of my best friend’s child.
Too much pressure, and nothing he was ready to deal with. So, no, Valentine’s Day didn’t have a great track record in my book.
As quiet covered the office again, I started picking at my nails, a habit I’d successfully curbed in college but taken up again in the last couple of weeks.
It was either that or drinking, and drinking didn’t seem like the wisest life choice, so ugly nails was the winner.
“You didn’t bring the little girl with you?” she asked.
Now my smile was easy, no internal sighing or repressed urge to bolt from the room. Mira made it easy to smile, which was about my only solace in this giant clusterfuck.
“No, she’s at home with a neighbor. I wasn’t sure what the lawyer wanted to discuss, so I thought it would be better to come alone.”
Her eyes widened, big and brown, just like the wood paneling covering the wall behind her. “I’ve been hearing so much about her since we started sorting through your friends’ paperwork. What a tragedy,” she added quietly. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” As I managed a weak smile, I picked off an edge of my nail, and it fell soundlessly into the plush carpet. Even if she meant well, even if the words were delivered with the very best of intentions,I kinda wanted to scream when someone told me they were sorry for my loss.
Which was unfair, of course. But the thought bloomed every single time I heard it.
And I’d heard it a lot lately.
What were they sorry about? They hadn’t done it. They hadn’t been drunk out of their minds and driving into oncoming traffic.
I’d rather have someone look me in the eye and say,This sucks, and there’s nothing I can say to make it better.
It was hard to swallow around the lump in my throat. It had been hard formeto know what to say those first few nights I’d rocked Mira to sleep because she was crying for Mommy and Daddy.
She missed them. A different way than I did, because she didn’t—couldn’t—understand. It took enough out of me just to keep my own tears quiet while I wiped away hers.
All of this—the slow changes and the big, furious changes—had me feeling horribly on edge and ready to burst. Into tears or screams or I didn’t even know what anymore. All day long, I tiptoed that fine line between wanting to bawl my eyes out and wanting to punch someone. I wasn’t sure which would make me feel better.
The receptionist must have read the tension in my face. She gave me a small, polite smile. “Byron will be out in just a minute. We’re waiting for one other person, and then you’ll get started.”
My stomach went cold, like someone had shoved a giant block of ice in there. “Who are we waiting for?”
She glanced down at the computer screen. “Liam Davies.”
The ice in my stomach bottomed out, settling somewhere in my feet.
“What?” I whispered.
Thinking I hadn’t heard her, she repeated the name with a courteous smile on her face.
I did not smile back, which was a really big deal because I was nice. I was friendly. Ialwayssmiled back. But not when someone casually dropped his name like everything was going to be fine and dandy.
As I conjured an image of him in my head, he walked through the door, looking like a human embodiment of the grumpy emoji. Dark hair, green eyes, scruff-covered jaw, and a furrowed brow that never quite seemed to go away. If he was capable of smiling, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen it. Definitely not aimed at me.
He sure as hell wasn’t smiling at the receptionist, and when he caught a glimpse of me, his brow furrow somehow deepened.
His eyes dropped to the Washington Wolves shirt I was wearing, and something in his gaze flickered.
