Page 88 of Phishing for Love
Sitting up slowly, I rest my back against the headboard and scrub my hands over my face. I spent most of last night staring at the ceiling. All I could see, over and over in my mind’s eye, were Nathan and Melissa holding hands, the infatuated smiles on both their faces.
I still feel sick inside, I’m still angry and hurting, but the pain feels more on the scale of a low-level throb. It’s not overwhelming. And that, more than anything, tells me Nathan wasn’t an overwhelming part of my life. A small part of me had quietly called it quits on our relationship some time ago. The other part was hanging in there for all the wrong reasons.
My phone is face down on the bed and I don’t bother checking it. Last night, I’d received a slew of missed calls and messages from Nathan. I didn’t read any of his texts or listen to any of his voicemails.
I take a long shower, pull on black sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, and open my bedroom door.
I stop in surprise, because I smell coffee.
Heart thumping, I make my way cautiously down the hallway. Nathan has a key to my place and if he’s here inmy house after what happened last night, trying to buy my forgiveness with coffee, I am not going to be held responsible for my actions.
But it’s Aaron standing in my kitchen, still wearing the same clothes from last night, the faint shadow along his jaw giving him a rough, weary look.
“Good morning,” he greets me, his voice low and gravelly.
I’m still trying to get over my surprise at his presence, so it takes me a second to find my voice. “Uh, morning.”
He holds up a steaming mug of coffee. “Cappuccino, right. One sugar.”
“How do you know how I take my coffee?”
“Like I said, I’m a details man.”
“Thanks.” I take the coffee from him. “I can’t function properly without my drug.”
One corner of his mouth tips up. “I thought I recognized a fellow addict.”
I take a slow, grateful sip, then another one, feeling the caffeine flood my system, restoring my equilibrium.
“Rough night?” he asks gently.
“A little.”
“To be expected.”
I hug the mug to me. “You didn’t go home? You stayed here the whole night?”
“I did.”
I frown. “Where did you sleep?”
Aaron nods to my three-seater couch in the living room. The thick throw blanket I like to snuggle under while watching TV is neatly folded away and the cushions are straightened.
I bite my lip. “You couldn’t have been comfortable.”
“I made it work.”
Now the most important question. I don’t know why I saved it for last. Or maybe I do, but I don’t want the strangeness of it to rest between us. “Why did you stay?” I ask in a small voice.
He takes his time answering, as though he’s choosing his words with care. “Because on one of the worst nights of your life, you shouldn’t be alone.”
Oh, my heart. This man, with his concern and compassion, is squeezing it to pieces.
I swallow against the swell of emotion. “Thank you for staying.”
He measures me for a long moment. “I want you to know how sorry I am.”
“Me too.”
