Page 120 of Good as Gold
“It’s not going to run itself,” I say through gritted teeth.
He sighs, the way you would at a misbehaving child. And that makes me even angrier. “When I was waiting for you to call me back—or at least text me to say you’re okay—I was trying to think of some way I could help…”
“You can’t,” I say flatly.
“Uh…how about a spa day?”
That’s when I kind of lose my mind. “A SPA DAY?”
“Hey—I know it’s—”
“Youdon’tknow. You don’t have acluewhat’s going on here! You are two thousand miles away, dangling off mountain tops, working through your own shit, and that is fine. Just stay out of my shit. Don’t question my judgement. And don’t try to help me. Because the help that I need is not the kind you can provide.”
For a long beat after I deliver this awful little rant, there’s nothing but silence on his end of the line. “Okay,” he says eventually. “I see.”
I feel terrible now. “Matteo—”
“No, you’re right. My apologies. Take care, Leila.”
Then he actually hangs up, and I’m left here with a phone to my head and a pounding, anxious heart.
CHAPTER45
MATTEO
APRIL
Sean holds the shovel, wearing nothing but a T-shirt with his snow bibs. The sun is hot overhead.
And he’s standingwaytoo close to the edge of the cliff.
“Spring skiing was always my favorite,” he says as he extracts a shovelful of snow for inspection.
“How’s it look?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter, right?” He drops the shovel and the snow without showing me.
“Of course it matters!” I’m angry now.
“Not anymore.” He shakes his head. And then the jerk actually smiles at me, the sun reflecting off his mirrored sunglasses. “I’m going now, okay?”
“Wait!” It always goes like this, and I’m already panicking. “Just hang on. It’s not safe.”
He shakes his head. “No, I mean it. I’m going. Don’t follow me anymore. I’m not the one who needs you.”
“Sean—”
“You know it’s true,” he says. “Stop following me. You’re chasing the wrong person. Take a step back.”
“Jesus.” I take a step forward instead. I could almost grab his bibs from here.
“Hey.” He sidesteps me. “You’re not listening.”
“I’ll listen. Talk.”
But he’s shimmering now. Melting in the sunlight. “It’s okay now. Be well, Matteo. Go on home.”
I’m trying to yell, but no sound comes out. Then I hear a pounding noise in the distance.
