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“You’re calling me because you want and need help, and that’s fine. That’s normal, Angel.”
“Not for me, it’s not,” she says. “Jesse, forget about it. I’ll see you after work. I shouldn’t have called. I didn’t know who else to talk to. I don’t even know what I want to talk about or say.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say.
“Taylor.”
“Angel.”
“You don’t have to do anything. This is not an emergency.”
But her needing to talk to somebody is a code red in my mind.
“I’ll see you soon.”
And then I hang up and stride toward the squad.
Twenty-Two
MARCI
I’m panicking,which is weird because I’m not usually a panicky person. I prefer to attack my problems head-on unless they’ve got a knife.
I spend as much time as possible in conversation with people in the diner, then switch my attention to my phone. I shoot off texts to Hannah who’s living her librarian fantasy while I’m in a waking nightmare of my own creation.
Everyone’s fine.
I am not.
And I can’t bring myself to tell the girls about this because they’ve got their own shit going on, and frankly, it’s embarrassing. There’s pity in June’s eyes when I bring up Billy’s name. And Hannah, she gets so mad when I talk about Billy, because she’s of the same opinion as Jesse. That I don’t owe him anything.
But I do. I’m the only mother figure he’s ever had. And that is all colors of fucked up, but it’s the truth.
Around lunch time, the bell tinkles over the glass front door, and Jesse enters the diner, alone.
It’s a sign of the times that I’m relieved to see him, rather than annoyed.
“Angel,” he says.
“Coffee?” I ask.
He sweeps me into a hug. Jesse cups the back of my head in his hand and presses me to his chest, curling me into him like he can protect me from the world. Too bad he can’t protect me from my poor choices.
I hug him back, melting into him even though I should despise this, and pretend that I’m doing it for show.
“I missed you,” he says. “What’s going on? I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”
“It’s not your fault,” I reply. “It’s—I didn’t know who else to call.”
“You did the right thing,” he says. “I’m your husband. You can rely on me.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, tracing a finger over the shell. “I’ll always be here when you need me.”
I reject the thought.
Fake. It’s fake, and as strong as the sexual attraction is, that doesn’t mean any of his words are real. The fact is, Jesse and I are telling lies to get what we want, and it doesn’t sit right with me.
“You want to talk about it?” Jesse asks.
I lead him upstairs to my tiny apartment. He sits down on my worn sofa, larger than life in his uniform. A uniform that I’ve despised for years, but that looks good on him.
