Page 72 of The Americana Playbook

“Of course.” Apparently, I’m all talk because pieces of shell accompany the first egg into the bowl. When Parker’s back is turned, I stealthily guide one up and out with my finger, tossing it into the sink and hoping it goes unnoticed, and it seems to. Parker appears more interested in my second intense yawn of the morning.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Last night? Or every night this week?” When I see the shame swim in her eyes, I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’m just a light sleeper.”

It’s fine to leave it at that, because it’s the truth. But truer is that her behavior has me sick inside knowing she doesn’t feel safe here.

“This building, it’s pretty secure. There’s a doorman, CCTV?—”

Parker takes the bowl from me, moving back to the stove. “I never said there was a problem with the building.”

Parker didn’t say that. I just don’t know how to open the subject any more delicately. Because I worry that even though I’m being careful, like I was with the egg, I’ll chip away a piece of Parker I won’t be able to put back together.

“Do you do that every night?” I ask against my better judgment. “The thing with the doors?”

I’m wondering if up until this week, maybe I haven’t slept as lightly as I thought.

She lowers the heat. “Just on bad nights.”

What the hell does that mean?

“I once read most couples divorce within the first year because of one of two things. Money and communication issues.”

Parker snorts. “Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about fixing anything with a divorce pending.”

Well, that one stung. But do I have a right to be upset? She can’t exactly throw something in my face to hurt me when she has no idea I’ll be hurt by it in the first place.

Parker moves to a drawer beside me, grabbing a silicone spatula. “Look, I’m sorry about last night?—”

“You don’t have to be sorry?—”

“Double-checking the doors isn’t an every night kind of thing.”

Parker didn’t justdouble-check the doors. Sheinfinitychecked them every single night for the past three days.

“Does it have to do with your back?”

I watch the way her shoulders tense as she freezes and immediately, I feel sick.

“I just have a little anxiety after a break-in a while ago.”

My arms folded across my chest drop to my sides. “Someone broke into your apartment?”

“I was asleep.” Parker turns. “Nothing bad happened though.”

“We clearly have very different definitions ofbad,” I snap because the thought of someone violating her space while she’s vulnerable leads me to fist my hands into tight balls. Her downplaying it makes me more frustrated, just as it did when I rushed home after the event. “Parker?—”

“Can we drop this?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

She raises an eyebrow, shocked by my challenge.

“I need you to tell me what’s really going on,” I say softly. “I’ll help you blindly. But I’ll help you better if you show me how to do that.”

Her eyes drift to the side. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

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