Space (Laws of Physics #2)(56)

I chuckled. “You know, just now, you sounded like how Senator Parker does when she’s confronting a bullshitter.”

“Well, she is my mom. And you are a bullshitter. Therefore . . .” Again, she shrugged with her shoulders, her face, and her hands, but she also grinned. “Come on, Abram. Talk about it. Talk about Mona. Tell me the whole story.”

I hesitated, glancing over her head, stalling. Being the object of an elaborate prank, or hoax, during which I’d made a total fool of myself, wasn’t something I wanted to advertise. That said, I knew Kaitlyn’s concern for me came from a genuine place, which was probably why it was so disarming.

“For the record, I think she’s completely crazy.”

My eyes cut back to her and I frowned. “She’s not—”

“Crazy about you. Crazy weird. All the good crazies.”

“You think she’s crazy about me?”

“Yes. After you burned whatever was in that envelope last night and left, I sat with her and Allyn. She kept looking for you. And during dinner, when I walked over, I think she’d assumed you and I were together and engaged.”

“She did?”

“Yes. The woman was practically seething with jealousy.” Kaitlyn widened her eyes, as though still struck by the memory. “I thought she might do me harm.”

I was tired, so it didn’t occur to me to hide my smile.

“Really, Abram? That pleases you?”

Now I tried to hide my smile. “No. . .”

She lifted her eyebrows.

“Okay, yes. Obviously not the part about her wanting to harm you. But, the fact that she was jealous? I’m not going to lie, I like that.”

Kaitlyn tried to look disgusted, but the effect was ruined by the amused curve of her mouth. “It doesn’t matter what I think of Mona. What do you think of Mona?”

Studying my friend, I realized what she said wasn’t precisely true. “It does matter what you think of Mona, actually.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I trust you. I trust your judgment.”

Her lips twisted to the side as she studied me in return. “I’ll love her just as long as she treats you like the prince you are and recognizes that your heart requires no tenderizing. It’s tender enough.”

Shaking my head at my friend, I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me. You write poetry for barnacle’s sake. You can’t tell me you’re not tender. You’re like veal, or foie gras, but without the sketchy ethics issues.” She leaned forward. “What’s the deal? How did you two meet? How did this thing start between you?”

I gathered a deep breath, debating where to start. “It’s a convoluted story, and long.”

She grinned. “My favorite kind.”





I knew this already, but Kaitlyn Parker was a great listener. She’d asked a few questions when she needed clarification, but otherwise just listened, her features showing only interest.

However, I’d underestimated how much her excellent listening skills would compel me to reveal, which turned out to be everything. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep. Whatever it was, I held nothing back. Once I started, I couldn’t stop.

“Wait. What?” Kaitlyn’s forehead wrinkled and she gave her head a subtle shake, like she was certain she’d heard me wrong. “She wanted to listen to your heartbeat?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze thoughtful, she shifted her eyes to some spot over my shoulder. “That was—is—not what I expected her to ask for.”

“Me neither.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

My friend’s attention returned to me, sharpened, and she nudged my foot with hers. “What happened next?”

I sighed. “I left.”

Kaitlyn stared at me, waiting.

I gave her a tight smile.

“You left.”

“Yes.”

“Without a word?”

“Yes.”

Her gray eyes moved between mine, searching. “And then you wrote poetry all night.”

“Yes.” I studied my left hand, flexing it.

“And now here we are.”

“Yep.”

She nudged my foot again, more of a kick this time. “What’s the plan?”

I exhaled a light laugh, my face falling to my hands. “You know I’m not big on plans. I have no idea.”

We were quiet for a minute, separating to steep in our own thoughts. Except, I had no thoughts left. They’d all been transcribed to the pages of the notebook still laying on the desk behind me.

But I was tired.

“You want advice?” she asked, interrupting the silence.

I nodded, rubbing my eyes. “Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll give you my advice. But first, I need to . . .”

I peeked at her from between my fingers. Her eyes were on me and felt sharp, intent.

“What? What is it?” I let my hands drop and leaned back in the chair.

She inhaled a deep breath, giving me the sense she was preparing herself for an unpleasant task. “But first, I need to provide content to my advice.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“You told me once that, before your ex, you used to write lyrics, poetry all the time. It was a compulsion for you, yes?” Her words were blunt, direct, and I expected no less.