Page 25 of The Probability of Us

I’m exhausted.

I barely slept last night—Ali stayed up as late as she could manage watching movies with me, but even long after she was asleep, I stared at the TV. I wasn’t even watching the movies, just hoping it’d eventually hypnotize me or lull me to sleep so I could stop thinking so damn much.

About my dad.

About how to explain the cut on my cheek if I can’t cover it with makeup.

About the company.

About how to save the jobs of these people that I had a hand in hiring.

About Warren—mostly about Warren.

About if I should let him explain what happened six years ago.

I want to know—I want to know so badly, which is the exact reason I won’t let him tell me. He’s been back for two days, and I already feel the pull between us growing just as it did back then. If nothing changes, then eventually, it’ll get too strong, and everything will come out in a rush just like it did at karaoke that night eight years ago. But this time everything that comes out might not be good.

Warren was at Kallia again this morning, waiting with two coffees in hand, but as we walked to the office, I didn’t hear a word he said.

“Analise?” he asks, concerned, and it’s that tone that snaps me out of it.

“Huh?” I look up, trying to figure out what street corner we’re at. I’m not sure how long I zoned out for.

“Are you okay?” He’s regarding me with the intensity of a current lover—not a past one. “You’ve barely said a word all morning.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, looking at my reflection in the building behind him to make sure the layers of concealer Ali helped me put on this morning to cover the cut and redness are still doing their job. It’s sore as hell and has me worrying others will be able to notice, but it’s not swollen, and the makeup covered it better than I expected. His eyes pass over my cheek without stopping. “I didn’t have the best night.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, hopeful, but I shake my head, thinking of what happened and all that he wasn’t here for that led up to that point.

“Not particularly.”

“Oh, okay.” His face falls but I just turn to keep walking. I still feel so empty right now. Trying to conceal an entire part of my life is draining.Dealingwith that part of my life is draining. I’m just trying to make it through the day at this point, going through the motions.

He follows, but looks distressed.

A block later he stops and turns to me. “Does this have anything to do with the texts I sent you last night?”

Now, it’s my turn to be confused. “What texts?”

“You didn’t get my texts? Your number’s still the same, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I say, then trail off. After I called Ali, I didn’t look at my phone for the rest of the night and I never checked it this morning either—now that I think of it, it’s probably dead. I don’t remember charging it at all, and it was already in my bag this morning. “Oh, I haven’t checked my phone since yesterday afternoon.”

“Analise, are you sure you’re okay?” He puts his hands on my shoulders and examines my face in excruciating detail—but still, thankfully, misses any signs of my injury. My heart flutters at the care and worry in his eyes, and I know I probably shouldn’t, but the feeling of needing to be held by him is so strong that I just throw my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. He freezes. “Okay, you’re really starting to worry me now.”

I laugh for the first time this morning and his body relaxes around me as his arms slide over my shoulders and around my back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see your messages,” I murmur into his chest.

“I feel stupid for bringing it up,” he says. “I was just worried you were mad at me.”

I smile. “No, I’m not mad at you . . . this time.”

His body shakes around me as he chuckles and I melt a little bit further into him.

“You know, I think I might prefer it if you were.” He squeezes tighter. “Because at least then I would know what was bothering you instead of being completely in the dark and having no clue what to do to help.”

“For now, you just being here is enough,” I whisper. And it is—I feel better just being around him. He’s the one I’ve wanted to turn to every time something bad—or good—happened the past six years.

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