Page 124 of Sing For Me

“Hi, Eli.”

“Never thought I’d be jealous of a dog.”

Reese smiles, and goddammit if my breath doesn’t catch. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Rufus at work says he’s jealous of dog Rufus sometimes,” Reese says. “Gets to sleep wherever he wants, never has to make food.”

“Poops in the yard.”

Reese looks down, and I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. “Don’t, Eli. Not yet.”

“Okay. It’s just that I’m so sorry, Reese. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the stuff with Neil. I’m sorry. But the reason for it—the reason for everything—is I love you. I’m completely, over-the-top in love with you. I want to make a life with you. I want to be able to sleep together in the same bed every night, to reach over and feel you there next to me so I don’t have to worry. I want our kids to come bounding in too early to wake us up and I want to help them make finger-painting Mother’s Day cards for you. I want to take them to your concerts when they’re too young, with those big headphones on their heads while you blow kisses at them and sing. And that’s it most of all, Reese. I want you to sing. Sing for you, sing for them. Sing for me.”

Reese is trembling, clinging to Rufus like he’s a life preserver.

“I know. This is too much, too soon, too everything. But Reese, I didn’t just start loving you now. I knew it the moment I saw you, and I saw this freight train coming. I was standing on the tracks and the only thing I knew to do was dive out of the way because I don’t really know how to love without throwing my whole self into it. And if that’s too much, I understand.

“Eli,” Reese says, her voice cracking. “Are you kidding me right now?”

My stomach heaves. She’s going to kick me out, when I didn’t even get in. She’s going to tell me I’m drunk, though I haven’t taken a drop of booze. I’m out of my mind.

Maybe I am. But she doesn’t say that. Instead she says, “You put the rest of us to shame.”

I furrow my brow, my heart chugging in my chest like it’s going to give out. “You feel everything, and you don’t hold back. All you care about is the people you love, and everyone really. Those artists in your building—they talk about you like you’re their dad. I think you’re Alvin’s personal hero, and his father’s, too. Your siblings act like they’re exasperated with you and your…intensity, but they love you to pieces. Even when you can’t see it.”

I know she’s talking about Jude. But my throat aches with all the things she’s telling me.

“Maybe what you’ve always thought was too much was just right. It’s what made me fall for you, Eli. It’s what made me agree to pretend to be with you. Because pretending”—her voice hitches—“wasn’t hard.”

I dip my head down, taking her hand and pressing my forehead onto it. “Reese, I’m so sorry for what I did. I didn’t think of you—”

“No,” she says. “You were only thinking of me. But yes, you should have let me handle it. I wouldn’t have had to track Simon down and persuade him not to press charges or sue you.”

I look up, sharply. “You talked to him?” My chest clenches in too-late concern. “You shouldn’t have done that. I don’t care about my future.”

“Why? When it’s my future too?”

My throat constricts again, and I can’t help the burn in my eyes.

“What are you saying, Reese?” I choke out. “I need you to say it.”

“I’m saying I love you, you big dummy. But you can’t risk our future like that. And you can’t just not listen to me when you think I’m in trouble.”

I nod, reaching for her hands. “I promise, baby. I love you, Reese.”

“Show me,” Reese whispers. “Take me inside and show me.”

Rufus barks as I pull her out of the car, but we don’t even tell him to be quiet. I’m too busy picking Reese up, and carrying her, squealing, to the front door of her building, Rufus barking excitedly beside us.

“My neighbors are going to hate us,” Reese whispers.

“They won’t be your neighbors for long. But we can make them muffins or something tomorrow to make up for it.”

“Muffins!” This makes Reese laugh so hard I have to lower her to her feet, sliding my hand over her ass to guide her up the stairs.

But this simple gesture makes the blood run down to my lower half, and suddenly it’s all I can do to get us up the stairs. “I need you,” I breathe in her ear as she fumbles with the key in the lock.

When we finally manage to get inside, Reese puts a hand on my chest. “I should clean up first.”

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