Page 124 of Sheltering You

It gave her hope that maybe, eventually, they could be friends again. Not like before, but in a new way.

“If I had known that you felt something for me, I would’ve told you about Khalid and the baby. I should have. You were right about that. You were—you are my friend, and I should have told you. I thought you would judge me or see me differently if you knew the truth. I understand now that it would have been good if you had seen me differently. I did not mean for you to hope for things that could not be.”

“I know.”

His kindness brought tears to her eyes. “I would never hurt you. It is the last thing I want.”

He leaned forward and held out his hand. He didn’t take hers, but the way it sat between them, it felt like an offer.

She slipped hers into it.

“I understand. You’re far too kind for that, Jasmine.”

He gazed out the window, and she studied his straight nose and strong chin. He was handsome, but what she felt for him went so much deeper than his attractive features. What she felt for him she’d never known she could feel for a man.

She would need God’s help getting past it, or she would have to be the one to end their friendship. The thought of that broke her heart all over again.

“All morning.” He faced her again. “In the back of my mind, I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk you out of what you believe about your marriage, to try to make you see it how I see it. But the last few minutes, I’ve been praying, and even though I’m not convinced you’re right, I know you are—convinced of it, I mean—and if I talked you into divorcing Khalid, I’d be talking you into doing something you believe in your heart is sin. Which would be a sin—on both of our parts. And that would be no way to start a life together.” He squeezed her hand, then let it go and sat back. “I hate it. I wish things were different, but short of hunting down your husband and killing him…” By the serious tone and lack of smile, he wasn’t entirely joking. “I don’t see a way forward for us.”

She’d known that already. So why did fresh tears fill her eyes?

He pulled a wad of tissue from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “I saw, earlier… You seemed upset, so I grabbed some toilet paper. I should start carrying a handkerchief like my dad does.”

She dabbed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“If all I can be to you is a brother, then that’s what I’ll be. I’ll be your brother, and I’ll be your baby’s favorite uncle. I’ll be the coolest freaking uncle your baby could ever have and the best brother you can imagine until…until something changes. Or forever. Whatever…whatever you want, that’s what I’ll be. Okay?”

“A brother?”

“Yeah, sis. A brother.”

Sis. Like what Michael called her. She tried to smile, and though her lips stretched wide, she doubted he was buying it. “We will be friends?”

“Friends.” He reached toward her again, only this time, they shook hands, sealing their deal.

And what was left of her heart crumbled into pieces.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Derrick wasn’t in the mood for this. Not even a little.

He’d done the right thing with Jasmine. Now he felt wrung out and exhausted, and all he wanted to do was avoid everybody.

But the cold drizzle had waylaid their bonfire, his favorite tradition. He’d looked forward to it, thinking that, in the firelight, nobody would be able to pick up his disappointment and his anger and…all his feelings.

But they were trapped inside.

Leaning on his pool cue, he stared out the window into the darkness. The crescent moon was mostly hidden behind thick clouds, along with all the stars that usually shone so brightly here on the island off the coast of Maine.

There were no city lights for those clouds to reflect so far north, just the churning Atlantic that stretched as far as he could see.

Derrick strained to hear the women, who were upstairs preparing for tomorrow’s party. Mom’s voice was easy to distinguish as she gave directions on how to prepare all the family’s favorite foods. Before he’d come down, he’d spied cans of artichokes, so she’d be making the dip he loved. He’d seen the fixings for that Mexican seven-layer thing Camilla had introduced a few years earlier. He’d seen slices of meats and various cheeses, along with jars of olives and nuts and other yummy things, all laid out near a big wooden board, and Leila and Jasmine were working on some kind of Middle Eastern chicken skewer things.

The family had put up the tree and decorated the house the weekend before—back when Derrick had been certain of his future with Jasmine—so the whole place was an explosion of Christmas.

Last Derrick saw, though, the living room had been covered with boxes and serving trays and paper products.

He’d offered to stay up there and help the women—an excuse to avoid spending time with his brothers. He could cook. He could set tables and wash dishes. But Mom had shooed him to the basement game room. “Go play. It’s so much harder to talk about you when you’re in the room.”