Page 76 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Yes, you do!” Ten years apart did nothing to stunt her ability to read him as easily as she reads me. She points down at his bouncing foot. “We never used to be like this, Chris. We used to be friends.Goodfriends.”

“Lot of time has passed since then.” He’s an ass, playing with her emotions as payback for her screwing with mine. “I’m not even sure you’d like the guy I became. Maybe I drink from the carton and put empty bottles back in the fridge.”

“Idrink from the carton,” Franky snickers. “Sends my mom crazy.”

“And it would send you crazy if literally anyone else came into our home and did that,” she scolds. Then back to Chris, “Be my friend.”

His eyes dance with affection. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Be my friend.”

“And you just…” He casts a glance around the room. “You think you can demand it and make it so?”

“Yes.” She sets her hands on her hips. “My son and I are here in Plainview to stay. I wasn’t planning to force my company on anyone since I know the mess I left behind and the pain I caused. But now I’m tired of that. I don’t have leprosy, Tommy and I are…” She hesitates before settling on, “Friends. And you know damn well we have a history worth fighting for. It wasn’t always me, you, and Tommy. And it wasn’t always me and Tommy. There was a me and Chris, too. Independent of him. So stop with the shit and just be my friend already.”

“Chris’ move,” Franky declares, oblivious to the double meaning in his words. And because Chris has never been a guy to rush for anyone, he gently brushes Alana aside, sets his foot on the floor, and leans forward to study the board.

His lips curl up on the side, a taunting smirk he doesn’t allow Alana to see, and after a moment of consideration, he moves his queen and goes on the hunt. “Gonna get you, kid. Watch your back.”

“Don’t make me take your games away until you acknowledge me, Christian Watkins.” Alana grabs his face, clutching his jaw between her thumb and fingers, and drags his focus back to her. “Be my friend. Or I’ll hit you with a baseball bat.”

“Mom.” Hardly alarmed, Franky pulls his knight around the front and reinforces his king’s guard. “That’s coercion.”

“Yeah, Mom.” Chris snickers. “Coercion is bad.”

“Don’t make me beg.” Demand turns to vulnerability, and confidence makes way for the constant doubt her mother hammered into her heart. “Please.”

“Jesus.” He brushes her hands away and pushes to his feet, wrapping her in a tight hug and crushing her face to his chest. He holds her when a sob crawls along her throat, and presses a kiss to the side of her head, closing his eyes for a long, cathartic hug I’m not sure either of them realized they needed until now. “Don’t cry on me. You know I can’t take it.” He squeezes her extra tight and sighs when she circles his torso with her arms, holding on for as long as she needs it. But his eyes come to mine in thesilence, apology in his gaze like he thinks he owes me something. “We can be friends,” he murmurs. “Never actually stopped, just so you know.”

ROUND TWENTY-THREE

ALANA

Tommy serves dinner on the patio, mosquito zappers adding a kind of musical harmony to our meal, and though I try to regain a little distance, my boundaries are a mere joke as far as he’s concerned, because he sets my plate beside his and places the best steak of the bunch on top of it.

Because he always wanted to feed me.

“Dig in.” He selects a smaller, more easily managed steak for Franky, then offers a choice of the last two to his brother. Like I knew he would, Tommy takes the leftovers. Always the last to receive. And yet, he sits on my right with a smile that would swear pure contentedness.

He pours me a glass of wine without asking and scoots his chair as close to mine as he can physically manage. Then he sets his hand on my thigh beneath the table.

I brush it off and cross my legs.

He smirks. “What are your favorite subjects at school, Franky? Your mom used to be really good at math. Like, genius level with some of that stuff. Her and Chris always did their homework together like it was a race, and then when they were done, they’d kinda turn around and look at me like I was a stray mutt in the street. Like,alright, now we help the stupid one.”

“That’s not true.” I brush his hand off when he tries again. “We never thought you were stupid.”

“We definitely didn’t say it out loud,” Chris teases. He holds his forkin his right hand, though being right-handed would imply doing things the other way around. Cutting through his steak, he peeks across at Franky and finds him doing the same thing.

Same quirk and all.

Anxious, I risk a side glance to see if Tommy notices, too.

“You like math, don’t you, honey?” I cut through my steak and push Tommy’s hand off my leg. I’m not angry every time I have to, and he’s not sad every time I do. He’s turned it into a game, and I’m terrified that if he doesn’t have that to focus on, he might notice the similarities between his brother and my son. “And you’re especially good with algebra.”

“Algebra?” Tommy sips his beer. “Geez. Istillcan’t do algebra.”

“Means you didn’t pay attention in school,” Franky counters dryly.

---