Deep lines bracketed his mouth. “You can’t keep things from me.”
She paused. Something about that command scraped. A year ago or even a month ago, she might have stuffed her annoyance down, but she didn’t now. “I agree I should have shared this with you,” she said. “But you can’t tell me I can’t keep things from you when you regularly keep things from me.”
“Don’t turn this around on me.”
“Don’t . . . I’m not turning this around on you. I’m bringing up a legit issue. You know everything about me. Getting you to talk about yourself is like pulling teeth.” It wasn’t until she uttered the words and felt a boulder fall off her shoulders that she realized how much this had upset her. “I don’t even know what you like to eat for breakfast, damn it.”
“Breakfast again?” He shook his head. “I told you—”
“You told me you like waffles because I like making them, that doesn’t mean you like them for the sake of liking them!” She tried to control her rising voice. This wasn’t about breakfast, or rather, not just about breakfast.
“I don’t understand this. It is my job to know you.”
A client. “Am I a job or am I something else?”
That stymied him. “What?”
“I heard you telling your brother that I was your client. Is that all I am? Or have things changed?”
“When did I . . .” His mouth fell open. “Hold up. Hold up. You speak Punjabi?”
She waved that away. “Enough of it.”
“Wait—”
“What am I?”
Jas raked his hands through his hair. “You’re not only my job.”
“Then you gotta talk. You can’t shove everything down. I’m so worried you’re so focused on meeting my needs you’ll never tell me your own.” Her knuckles had turned white, her fists were clenched so tight. “It’s a pattern. It’s so hard for you to tell anyone what you need. Your family, your friends. That’s important, to have that support system. It’s important, for you to have that support.”
“Katrina—” His phone rang, and he cursed and yanked it out. His face grew pale as he read the text.
Katrina sat forward. “What is it?”
“My grandfather’s sick.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat. That robust, energetic man? “Oh no. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. He says it’s not an emergency.” He typed out a reply, then looked up. “I should go.”
“Of course.” Katrina grabbed her phone. “But you can’t drive, you haven’t slept. Take the car to the airport.”
“No. I’ll take you home first.”
She bit her tongue. Now wasn’t the time to get into how he was doing the exact thing she’d just told him she was concerned about, seeing to her needs instead of his. It would be quicker to humor him. “Fine.” She came to her feet and opened an app on her phone. “I’ll get you a flight.”
She waited for him to argue, but he was silent. “I hope Andrés is okay,” she said.
He held the door open for her. “Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“YOU’RE FAKING BEING sick now? Grandpa, come on.”
His grandfather’s lashes fluttered open at Jas’s flat pronouncement. Andrés should have looked weak and small in the hospital bed, but it was hard to dull the ruddy flush in the man’s face or his big size.
Still, Jas supposed Andrés could appear fine and still be sick. Unfortunately for his grandpa, Jas had run into his mother downstairs in the hospital. Undoubtedly the man had dragged his daughter in as coconspirator, because his mother’s lips had been twitching up a storm as she’d covered up for her dad.
Andrés coughed. “What’s that?” he said hoarsely. “I can’t hear you.”
“I thought you had the flu.” Jas dropped down into the chair next to the bed. “The flu affects your hearing?”
“It does when you have the flu and an, um, sinus infection.” Andrés coughed again.
Jas placed his palm on his grandfather’s forehead. “You’re cold as ice.”
“The fever comes and goes.”
“What the hell, Grandpa? This is extreme and ridiculous, even for you. I haven’t slept all night. I don’t have any extra clothes with me.”
“I can loan you some clothes for as long as you’re here,” Andrés croaked.
Jas opened his mouth to answer, but a nurse came in. She smiled brightly at Jas. “Sir, can you wait outside for a few minutes?”
He gave his grandpa a suspicious look, but he couldn’t call the older man a liar in front of witnesses. He slipped out of the room and pulled his phone out. He wanted to text Katrina, but they’d left things far too unfinished. They needed to talk in person.
He groaned when he saw Lorne’s text. They’ll announce the pardon tomorrow. I’m sorry, Jas.
He hit reply. That’s okay, he typed. Except it wasn’t okay.
It’s so hard for you to tell anyone what you need.
He looked up and down the deserted hallway, then hit Lorne’s name. She picked up on the second ring. “Hey. Sorry to deliver the bad news via text. I tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail.”
“I’m visiting my family, the reception’s spotty here.” He paused. “It’s certain?”
“Yes. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news at all but the press is already spinning it as the vindication of an American patriot.”
Jas stared blindly at the blank off-white wall. “What about us?” If McGuire was the patriot, what were they, the ones who had stopped him from murdering an innocent? The ones who carried the scars of that night?
“We’re forgotten. Unless we make it so we’re not.”
“You want to go to the press.”
“Yes. There shouldn’t be only one narrative out there. I have two reporters chomping to get the story.”
He closed his eyes, stomach churning. He had to back Lorne up. That was what was right.
What do you need?
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he said, enunciating every word carefully. “I can’t go through this again. I can’t bring those memories up. The nightmares. They’re so bad, Lorne.” His voice cracked on her name.
“I absolutely understand. I have to do this, but I get that you can’t.” Her tone was extremely gentle. “You had my back that night. I’ll have yours now. I’ll do my best to run interference so no one comes looking for you.”
He released a careful, shaky breath, the anxiety and fear leaving him. A dogged reporter might run him down, but he’d deal with that if and when it happened. “Thank you.”
“No worries.” She hesitated. “Listen, you can tell me it’s none of my business. Are the nightmares a regular thing?”
“Sometimes.”
Lorne made a sympathetic noise. “For me too.”
He scuffed his shoe on the linoleum. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely. You’re not alone.”