Block Shot (Hoops #2)(70)

I press deeper into her hand, turn to kiss the palm.

“Right is relative.”

“For you it is. Not for me.” She clenches her eyes closed, and tears trickle under her long lashes. “I can’t believe I did this to Zo. He won’t forgive me. I’ve lost my best friend and I . . .”

Sobs shake her body, and she’s an earthquake in my arms, ripping apart at the fault line. Her head falls to my shoulder and my shirt is instantly wet with her tears. Some feeling claws through my belly. It’s the closest to remorse I can come. Not because of what we did, but because she’s hurting.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair. I inhale her scent, the freshness, the cleanness of her, and I know I’m not worthy of this woman. She’s right. She is too good for me, but it’s the fact that I’m not good that will secure her as mine. Another man would allow his scruples, his values, his fucking conscience to give her up. To cede the field to the better man, but in the end that man wouldn’t have Banner.

And I will.





23





Banner





I’ve dreaded this sound all day.

The sound of the front door opening. Of approaching footsteps. The sound of pending devastation, Zo’s and mine.

I didn’t go to work today. For the first time in years, I called in sick. It’s not a lie. I’ve been nauseous since I woke up this morning. Nauseous and heartsick. Guilt pools like battery acid, corrosive in my stomach and dread coils like barbwire in my throat. It hurts to swallow, and I can barely breathe.

The worst part is that in my dreams, I still couldn’t shake Jared. I want to hate him. To forget him. To ignore him, but nothing works. He’s embedded in my head, insinuated himself under my skin. Sunk into my bones. I still feel him, a phantom moving inside me. I want to compartmentalize. To consign Jared to a corner while I address this disaster with Zo, but it doesn’t work that way. Memories of him, of us together, saturate every moment. Even the ones while I wait for Zo to come home.

“Hola.” Zo drops his bag and walks over to the couch where I’m seated, legs tucked under me.

“Hola.” Genuine pleasure makes me smile. Despite what’s about to happen, I’m glad to see him.

“I missed you.” He pulls me up from the couch, muscular arms wrapping around my waist. His lips descend, but I turn my head at the last minute so his kiss lands on my cheek. I can’t. Not with this secret, this unspeakable betrayal between us.

“Banner?” He draws back, his expression puzzled, concerned. “?Qué pasa?”

“Nothing,” I answer out of habit, so used to things being right. So used to being fine and able to handle whatever problem I’m facing. But I created this problem, and there’s no fixing. “That’s not true.”

His frown deepens, concern in his touch. I relish it because I know it won’t last.

“Sit.” I gesture to the couch. After the briefest of hesitations, he does, and I join him. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.” He touches my knee. “Just tell me, Bannini.”

The words wait in my throat, a lit match suspended over gasoline. I think that’s the only way I’ll get them out, if they burn through my skin and singe the air.

“I . . .” I lick my lips, shallow breathing through this moment charged with anxiety and shame. “Zo, I . . .”

A sob combusts in my chest and into the tension of the room.

“Baby, what?” Zo cups my face, pushing my hair back with one hand. “What the hell? Did someone hurt you? Are you—”

“I slept with someone else.”

He goes completely still, and the only sound in the room is the tortured hiccup of my breathing as I struggle to contain the sobs. I want to withdraw and lick my self-inflicted wounds, but that cowardice isn’t an option. Not with Zo staring at me, stunned. His hands tighten around my face, and for a moment I think all that strength will be used to crush my bones. Maybe he feels that violent urge because he drops his hands from my face like I’ve burned him, like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he keeps touching me. He walks to stand by the mantle over my fireplace, turned away. In the silence after his hands leave me, one word slithers into my ears and under my skin.

Whore.

That’s what I called Kenan’s cheating wife. So easy to say, to stand in judgment when you think you’re immune. I’ve always resisted every temptation, but nothing prepared me for Jared.

I hazard a glance up to where Zo still stands, elbows propped on the mantle between keepsakes and photos of my family. His head rests in his hands. The snow globe he brought from Vancouver, a winter sunset ending a fairy-tale day, mocks me from its prized position.

“Please, say something,” I beg softly, breaking the taut silence.

His shoulders stiffen, and for a second, I think all he’ll give me is the proud line of his back, but then he looks at me, his face an ice sculpture carved in sharp, cold lines. My tears have always been his weakness, but the hot tears pouring from my eyes won’t melt the frozen terrain of his face. It’s a tundra. Desolate.

“?Cómo pudiste hacerme esto?” he asks, his voice hoarsened with emotion. “A nosotros?”

How could you do this to me? To us?