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Cornell’s head began to spin. “What’s wrong with her?”
Bobbi rushed into the mudroom. “Cornell, please. She’s asleep.”
“I thought she was in the shower.” His eyes flew to John, who looked away.
Suddenly standing in the house that had become a second home over the last year, with a man and woman who had nearly become a second set of parents, Cornell felt like an unwanted guest.
“Sweetie,” Bobbi stood in front of him. “Everything is fine, but it’s best that you go home, okay? She’s not ready to leave just yet.”
Cornell could see the swarm of emotions that hid behind Bobbi’s eyes—distress, exhaustion, fear.
But you don’t get it. I can’t be away from her anymore. She needs me. He cringed thinking about the tone of Ali’s voice the night before.
“I promise,” Bobbi said, and she wrapped her arms around him. “It has nothing to do with you.” He felt it in her embrace, in the softness of her words. Bobbi was trying to protect him in the way only a mother could.
But Cornell didn’t want to be protected from anything. He didn’t need to be held and coddled. He needed to be the one doing the holding. His body was bursting at the seams, desperate to do just that.
With her arms still grasping his, Bobbi leaned back. “Go home, and she’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”
I need her. I need to see her right in front of me.
But he wasn’t looking as far down as he would be if Ali were in Bobbi’s place. He wasn’t staring at honey-colored eyes. He was looking at deep brown ones. Bobbi’s hair was darker—nearly black—and bluntly cut below her chin. There wasn’t a word Cornell could think of to describe the color of Ali’s hair, the warm, vibrant tones, the shininess of her soft waves. Bobbi’s hand grasping him was larger, her nails longer.
None of it was right.
“Can you guys give us a minute?”
The relief that hit Cornell at the sound of Ali’s voice made him sway. But her voice, so soft and unsure, made Cornell nearly stumble.
When Bobbi and John stepped out of the mudroom, he fully saw Ali. Her hair was damp, and she was wrapped in a large, white bathrobe, pulling at the sleeves.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve called you and told you not to come.”
Cornell swallowed heavily, not understanding the distance.
I want to take you home. I want to hold you. Please.
“What’s going on?” He stepped closer, trying to hide the hurt that struck him when Ali moved away, sitting on the bench against the wall.
She crossed her legs, pulling the opening of the robe closed. “I want to stay here a little longer. I’m not ready to come home.”
“Why?”
Ali didn’t say anything.
Cornell took a deep breath, trying to swallow his frustration. “Why don’t you want to come home?” He gave the silence between them another few seconds before sitting next to her. “Ali, I just don’t understand—”
“Because I almost died, Cornell!” she shrilled, her voice agitated. “Because I hit a pole, going God only knows how fast, and I could’ve died. Can you give me a break?”
He realized now that her left arm was folded in her lap, and her opposite hand was tucked into the opening of the sleeve, rubbing beneath the terry cloth. Cornell sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder, and Ali flinched as if his touch burned—but it was her reaction that scorched him.
“Can I stay?” Cornell asked, the pleading in his voice making it nearly unrecognizable. “Can I stay with you here?”
“No.”
I don’t get it. I don’t know what I did or didn’t do. No, I shouldn’t have left her the other day. I should’ve stayed by her side and helped her every fucking moment because she did almost die. And what did I do? I went to work. I fucking went to work. She should be fucking furious.
“Ali, I shouldn’t have left you here the other day. I’m sorry. Please, just let me take you home.” I’m fucking begging here. I’m begging to take care of you.
