One of These Nights (28 page)

Jason had watched it go down all the way back then with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. On the one hand, he'd been grateful that his mother hadn't felt like he merited that kind of intervention. On the other, who would ever want to put up with his family? He worried he would never get far enough away.

Even at arm's length, they could still cause trouble.

“Why did you call, Tommy? I can't fix this for you.” He wanted to be done with the conversation, to say no to whatever this was and hang up.

“Yeah, you can. Angela and I are going to come visit you. Do the Cove, see some people. I figure I'll propose, maybe we can roll a quick thing with a justice of the peace all within a week or so. She'll be game; we've talked about it. Mom won't go anywhere near you until you apologize, so we're safe. And I could use a place to stay . . . a week at a hotel is steep and I'm trying to save for a honeymoon.”

It was a sales pitch, and it was transparent bullshit, neither of which was a surprise. Tommy had always lived beyond his means. Jason assumed he was still in some hefty debt. Once, long ago, there had been a few requests for money, each of them turned down with only a little regret—and that only because Jason wished he looked like more than an opportune mark to his brother.

“No,” Jason said, and there was no regret this time. Just the same weariness he always felt when it came to his immediate family. “You're going to have to work this out some other way, Tommy. I'm just getting back to work and everything else, and I don't want to be involved in this.”

“You won't help me.” Flat, angry.

“No.”

“You won't help your brother get married. Your only brother.”

“Maybe if you called when you didn't need things I would. As it stands, though, no. You'll have to deal with Mom or run away someplace else.”

“What is this about, Jay?” Tommy asked, and Jason could hear him winding up, just like their mother did. The apple hadn't fallen too far from the tree. “You're jealous. Still. Jesus, you need to get a life. It isn't my fault I was the favorite. I didn't ask for it.”

This was true, Jason thought. But any time he'd reached out, his younger brother had slapped his hand away . . . or grabbed it and demanded something he didn't want to give. That had been a choice Tommy had made and continued to make. He blew out a breath, looked out the window, and saw Zoe's little Mini headed toward the house. There was instant relief . . . and quick on its heels was doubt, seeping through every crack in his well-constructed armor.

She isn't going to want to deal with all this baggage. I don't even want to deal with it.

“I'm not competing with you,” Jason said, not quite managing to keep the bite out of his voice. “I never was. We're not the same at all, but it never bothered me like it does you.”

“Please,” Tommy snapped. “You were always competing. You were always jealous of all the attention I got. But you can never make it work, right? Wife didn't work, stuck in the Cove, some girlfriend who won't last, busted leg. But instead of growing the hell up, I get this petty bullshit where you won't help me because of stuff that happened years ago. You just don't want me to be happy, right? You love it that Mom's screwing up my life.”

“I don't, actually. And that's not what I want,” Jason said. Tommy's entire worldview was constructed around the premise that people who gave him things were all right, and people who said no were jealous haters. It would never change.

“Then what? What do you want? An apology? Because I'm not—”

“No,” Jason interjected smoothly, watching Zoe pull into the driveway. She wouldn't be getting the best of him today, not after this, but he'd try. Even if moving forward after so many years treading water was a lot harder than he'd thought, he would try.

“I just wanted a brother,” Jason said. And into the stunned silence that followed, he added, “Good-bye, Tommy. Believe it or not, I hope it all works out for you.”

Then he hung up the phone.

H
e leaned over the teacup and sniffed suspiciously. “I don't know, Zoe.”

Zoe watched him with exasperated affection. “Jason, tea is my thing. If you're going to be with me, you're going to be with my tea.”

He looked up at her, brown eyes warming with mischief. “That sounds dirty.”

She smacked him. “I'll show you dirty. Now, give it a taste—it won't kill you. You picked that one out, remember?”

They sat next to each other at her little kitchen table, teacups in front of them. She'd gotten out the cream and sugar, in case the only way she could coax him into what she'd tried to convince him was a fun new experience was to let him wreck the flavor of the tea by dumping a bunch of things in it. The trip to Sereni-Tea, where she spent so much time she had both an account and a friendship with the owners, had gone about as well as expected. Jason had hobbled uncertainly among the canisters of loose tea, sniffing things and looking as though he would rather be anywhere else, smelling anything else, up to and including the offerings at the nearest landfill.

There was hope for him, though. He'd chosen the Fireside Oolong she'd been meaning to pick up, and she'd taken him home and brewed it just about bubbling over with anticipation. The faces he was pulling were just par for the course. If she could make it through their afternoon looking at fancy fishing rods at Camping World, he could drink a damn cup of tea.

Besides, he seemed like he could use a little comfort today, though she wasn't sure what was wrong. He'd been off since she'd picked him up. Not bad, just not . . .
right
. And in typical Jason fashion, he was keeping it to himself. So she plied him with tea and hoped for the best, wishing that he'd just give up the fight and
trust
her. Maybe she couldn't fix his problems . . . but she couldn't even try if she didn't know what they were.

“It smells good, doesn't it?” she asked him.

“It smells . . . fine,” Jason replied. His hair fell in sexy tousled waves, flopping over into his face. She knew that at this point, he was just leaving it to tweak her—and she had no intention of telling him that it was as sexy as hell, even if it made her crazy when it fell into his eyes. He also needed to shave.
Again.

He sighed, picked up his cup, gave her one more reproachful look, and took a sip. Zoe leaned forward, eyes wide and trying not to bounce in her chair. “Well?”

Jason frowned a little, pulled the cup away, looked at the liquid remaining as though it were a great mystery, and then shrugged. “Tastes like tea.”

She made a strangled sound and threw up her hands. “What am I supposed to do with you? I can't kill you. It's illegal!” Then he was laughing, and he flashed the grin that still made her breath catch in her chest.
Finally,
she thought.
Progress.
She wadded up a napkin and threw it at him. “You're yanking my chain!”

“It's so easy,” Jason said. He picked up the cup and took another sip. “It's pretty good. And I like the way it smells. I'm not going to replace my coffee with it, but I'd drink it again. Happy?”

She rolled her eyes. “You sound like Sam. Cretins, all of you. Uncivilized cretins.” She picked up her own cup and took a sip, savoring the toasted sweetness as it slipped over her tongue. “Mmm.” She opened her eyes, and Jason was watching her with the singularly intense look he got when she'd piqued his interest, a hunter watching its prey. Heat quickly spread from her cheeks to points south. This was one area they had no problem connecting in. When Jason was inside her, there seemed to be nothing in the world but the two of them. He made it easy to lose herself, wrapped up in him until she wasn't sure where he ended and she began.

Zoe cleared her throat. If they kept up like this, he'd manage to distract her from her purpose, and this couldn't be put off any longer. Her conversation with her mother had lit a fire under her. It was time to get this sorted out.

“So, Aaron's show. You're coming, right? Because I'm finalizing everything and I really, really want you to be there with me.”

She saw it, just a flash of the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look he got whenever she raised this subject, and had to stop herself from balling her hand into a fist on the table. She breathed deeply.
I've dealt with much more difficult customers than Jason and convinced them they needed what I wanted them to have. Why can't I get him to be my date for one night? What is it about this that's so terrible?

“I'm not sure, Zo. I'll be fresh out of my cast; I might need to sit if the leg muscle gets sore or tired. . . .”

“I know. That's why there are these marvelous inventions called chairs.” She leaned toward him, her hand brushing over his, seeking a reassuring touch. “Jason, this is my life. My business. And this is a really important show. I want you there with me. What about that is hard? I'll find you a suit if you don't have one.”

Now he was irritated. “I can handle getting a suit myself, thanks.”

“Oh, so you just don't
want
to. Okay, I get it.” She could hear her accent thickening as her temper rose, but she couldn't stop it. The show had become a sticking point between them that she simply didn't understand. It was one night, just a dressy event that would be focused on Aaron and his work. All Jason needed to do was be there for her.

It was upsetting to realize just how much she wanted that, and how reluctant he was to give it.

“What is the big deal about this with you?” she asked.

“It isn't. I just . . . I don't know why you want me there. I'm not part of that whole scene. I'd just end up knocking something over or offending an art critic. I'm not going to add anything to the experience for you, Zoe. I can't talk art with these people.”

She widened her eyes. “Are you kidding me? You've gotten pretty good at talking about what you like at the gallery, Jason. Aaron's work might not be your thing, but it doesn't have to be for you to be able to talk about it. And you don't even
have
to talk about it. You can chill out by the canapés and give people the death glare so they leave you alone. I really don't care!”

“If you don't care, then why do you want me to come in the first place?”

“Because you're my boyfriend and this is what couples do. They go out of their way for each other. They don't hide just because something is out of their wheelhouse. I had no idea
I want you to be
with me
was such an offensive thing to say!”

He glowered and began turning the teacup in a circle. “I just think it would be better if I steered clear. I don't belong at those things. I'll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“The only thing that will stick out is your bad attitude. You know what? Forget it,” she snapped. She smacked her hands down on the table, filled with the kind of helpless anger only Jason seemed to be able to produce in her. “I'll go on my own. You just stay right in your comfy house, sitting on your butt, happy because you don't have to go out of your way for anyone or anything that you don't want to.”

“That's what you think?” his voice had taken on a hard edge, the kind that happened when there would be no budging him. All of Zoe's pleasure at taking him to do something she enjoyed evaporated, replaced by the same odd emptiness and frustration that she felt every time he shied away.

“I don't know what else to think,” she said. “So yes. This sounds boring to you, you hate dressing up, and so you won't come. Not for me, or for anyone. I'm glad you're so happy with your own company that that's your preference most of the time, but not all of us are built that way.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I'm with you every day. What part of that do you think I'm not enjoying? If I didn't want to be with you, I wouldn't.”

“I think you don't enjoy the parts that aren't on your terms,” she said flatly, rising from the table to rinse out her cup. Leave it to Jason to spoil her damn tea. “If it makes you uncomfortable, you shut down. If I get too close, you shut down. If it gets too personal, you shut down. See a pattern there?”

“Bull.” His voice was a rough growl, but his bluster had never scared her.

“No, truth,” she said. “You like it light and casual. We have beer down by the harbor, which for the record I liked. We go eat, hang out. Mostly just the two of us. And that's all right; I can't complain. If I didn't like being with you, I wouldn't. But this is bigger, and you know it. This is an important part of my life, a
major happening in my life
, and this is when you start to get weird. I only get so far with you and you put on the brakes. When we decided to try and make this work, I didn't realize we'd hit your limits so fast.”

He shoved a hand through his hair, his mouth a tense, thin line. “It's not like that. I thought we were just enjoying each other. If you had a problem I wish you would have said something instead of assuming . . .” He trailed off, tried again. “This gallery thing . . . I didn't . . . it's n-n-n-
fuck
.” Jason gave her a furious look and shoved himself away from the table, grabbing his crutches and leaving the room as swiftly as she'd ever seen him do it. Zoe heard the front door slam a moment later, and the guilt landed on her like a ton of bricks. She had a knack for pushing his buttons, and she'd just purposely slammed her hand down on all of them. Though maybe she could have avoided that if he would just
talk
to her.

She put her face in her hands and closed her eyes, trying to get a handle on her feelings. It had always been like this with her. When she decided she wanted something, that was just it. She worked for it, focused on it, poured heart and soul into it until it became her reality.

Jason was different, difficult, and impossible to pin down. And she wanted him more than anything, because she'd been half in love with the man for years. It was no surprise that a few weeks had taken care of the rest. She loved him. It was the simple, inescapable truth. And while Jason might enjoy her company, she wasn't sure his heart was available. But bludgeoning him with words and wants wasn't going to get her where she wanted with him, no matter how well that worked for just about everything else in her universe. He might just need time.

Or this might be all he had to give her. It was going to be up to her to decide whether she could handle it if that was the case . . . if she could make it be enough. Except she already knew, with a sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, that if things stayed as they were, it wasn't enough. Not for her.

Zoe rubbed her face, stood, and followed the path he'd taken. She headed out the front door and found him only halfway down the flagstone path through the front yard. She looked at him, the broad, strong back, the slightly lowered head as he stared at the ground, and felt a pang of longing so deep it seemed to echo in her very soul.
He's been awfully alone for a really long time.
If only she could get him to understand that he didn't have to be anymore.

She came up behind him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him but wasn't sure that would be welcome just now.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “The show is just important to me, and I thought . . . it's something I just wanted to share with you. But if you're not comfortable being there, I'm not going to try to make you go.”

He turned his head to look at her, and the weariness she saw etched on his face surprised her. “It's not that,” he said.

“Then what? You can talk to me. I wish you would.” She hated to fight. Bickering was an art she'd learned at her parents' knees, but real fighting . . . no. She didn't like to hurt. Not herself or anyone else.

“It's complicated,” he said.

Zoe pressed her lips together and looked at him. “I don't think so,” she said. “I really don't.”

That seemed to take him aback. “No?”

“No. I think it's very simple. Somewhere in that handsome, thick head of yours, you're still comparing me to her. And you're scared to death that if you look too close, this is going to look like the same mistake all over again.”

“It's . . . it's not . . .”

She put up a hand, resigned to having this conversation she'd wanted desperately not to have. Even if she'd known it was always going to happen. “Maybe that's an oversimplification, but that's what I see. You got stuck with a bad family and lucked into a bad marriage. The first one probably had something to do with the second, but that's not my area.”

A faint, sad smile that nearly broke her heart curved the corners of his mouth. “What is your area, then?”

“Me. And my being good for you, because I'm nothing like her. Not in any way that would count.”

He seemed to mull that over, turning his face a little into the cool breeze that lifted his hair away from his face. Zoe could only watch him, finally sensing how fragile this all was. She couldn't let it slip through her fingers. She couldn't let it break.

“You don't know, though,” Jason said. “You couldn't know that for sure.”

“You're wrong.”

One of his eyebrows arched as he looked at her again. “Because . . .”

“Because I know who you are, and I'm standing here trying to keep you instead of running away.”

Jason drew in a deep breath and watched her silently for a long moment. Zoe grappled with the knots she was quietly tying herself into. If knocking some sense into him—maybe pounding on his chest while yelling at him that she loved him, so he really ought to just accept it, embrace it, and move on—would have worked, she would have balled up her fists in a heartbeat. But Jason had baggage. She was only just beginning to realize how much. And he was going to have to come to this himself, or not at all.