“Sylvia.” His voice is firm. Maybe a little sad.
I shake my head, but now I lean back so that I can look at his face. He’s looking back at me, and I cannot read his expression. Is he about to confess to me? Deny his involvement? I don’t know, and it frustrates me that I also cannot guess.
I know only one thing for certain, and that is that I meant what I said. It doesn’t matter. I reach up and press my finger to his lips, then shake my head to silence him. “No matter what, we’re getting through this. Now tell me what the plan is. You have to be in Beverly Hills in the morning. What time are we leaving here?”
“This afternoon,” he says. “I want some face time with Charles before I walk into the lion’s den tomorrow,” he adds, referring to Charles Maynard, his attorney back home.
“Then this room isn’t where you need to be.” I ease out of his embrace and nod toward the window. “Go spend some time with your daughter, Jackson Steele.” I reach up and stroke his cheek, his beard stubble scratchy against my hand. “Just a bit today, but that’s okay. You’ll be spending a lot more time with her later.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to argue. Then he nods. “Are you coming?”
“I’m going to shower first, and get dressed. And,” I add, picking up the now-cold toast, “I can’t go out there until I’ve eaten the best toast ever.”
He actually laughs a bit, and I’m proud of myself for my rather lame joke.
He tugs me to him, then kisses me softly.
“I’m not okay,” he says, once again answering my question from earlier. “But thanks to you I’m a little bit better.”
I watch him go, then shut the door behind him before returning to the window and waiting for him to appear on the lawn. It takes a few minutes, but he finally shows, and as I watch, he calls to Ronnie. Both she and the puppy lope toward him, and he scoops her up and swings her around, his expression glowing.
My heart twists. Because I know that his happiness is fleeting. And I fear it will get worse before it gets better.
More than that, I fear that it won’t get better at all.