Page 27 of The Final Faceoff
Then, finally, he stands.
Slow. Careful. Measured in a way that makes me want to back up—but I hold my ground.
“I’m here,” he says, voice calm, certain, “because you matter to me. You’re my best friend. And when I need you, you’re there—no matter the time, no matter the reason.”
His gaze locks onto mine, and suddenly, I can’t breathe.
Because I want to believe him.
God, I want to.
But I don’t know how.
Leif just watches me, completely steady, completely him, like this is normal. Like I’m not a woman on the verge of an existential crisis, grasping at frayed edges while my whole life comes apart in my hands. This is too much. He should leave. Maybe another day we can pick up the conversation. Probably in eighteen years when his friend is no longer in need of help. When I’ve kicked ass as a mother, then, I’ll be able to look at him and say,See, I could do it on my own. I don’t need anyone.
I swallow hard. “Leif . . .”
“You should move in with me.” The words land like a physical thing, knocking the breath from my lungs.
My laugh bursts out, startled and disbelieving. “What?”
“You should move in with me,” he says again, steady, certain like he’s not suggesting something completely deranged.
Okay, he’s the one who’s out of his mind. You don’t just offer someone to move in with you, more so when that would destroy his routine. A baby wakes up every minute at night. I’ve only dealt with little ones during the day. I think they become goblins at night—at least that’s what I’ve heard from friends and acquaintances.
Though as lovely as his offer is, I have to say, “No.”
Leif doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t roll his eyes or push back immediately. He just watches me, waiting. Like he expected that response. Like he’s already thought this through a thousand different ways and he’s going to convince me.
“Why not?” he asks, voice low.
I gape at him. “Why not? Leif.”
He lifts a brow. “That’s not an answer.”
I sputter, throwing my arms out. “I don’t have a place to move from, Leif. My place is wherever my suitcase lands. My ‘home’ is a hotel room or a temporary rental or—God, an airport terminal if the flights are bad enough.”
“Exactly,” he says. Like I just proved his point.
I scowl. “That’s not—” I stop, shaking my head. “That’s not a reason to move in with you.”
“It’s the perfect reason.” He shifts, crossing his arms, tone frustratingly logical. “You need stability. Comfort. A place that actually feels like yours.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “Oh, sure. And that place should be your house? I should just rent somewhere.”
“No, you should move in with me,” he insists.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because—because—” I make a vague, frantic gesture. “Because that’s not my life. I don’t have a home, Leif. I don’t do homes. That’s permanent and for people who . . . are not me, okay?”
His gaze flickers, but he doesn’t look away. “Maybe it’s time you did.”
“Well, yeah. I have to be responsible now,” I agree with him. “I’m supposed to lease an apartment I can afford and you know when I’ll be able to work again?”
“When the baby is old enough,” he states. “You can go back to study your Ph.D., or . . . the possibilities are endless.”
