Time (Laws of Physics #3)(56)

She laughed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“If you break your arm, knowing someone out there in the world is starving and suffering shouldn’t numb your pain. People say comparison is the thief of joy when it comes to success, right? But it’s also the thief of compassion when it comes to suffering.”

Mona nodded, sniffling, swallowing. “Okay, okay,” she said, just as the car pulled to a stop.

Gritting my teeth at the inconvenient timing, I covered her hands with mine and squeezed. “Listen. We’ll go inside. You take your time. If you need to sleep on it, fine. But before we do anything again . . .” I paused at the panicked look in her eyes, how her hands spasmed in mine.

“Abram.” My name sounded like a plea.

“This isn’t an ultimatum.” I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully, gentling my voice. “This is me being careful with you.”

Her face crumpled and she sounded angry as she whispered, “But that’s just it. I don’t want you to be careful with me. That’s the opposite of what I want. And that’s the problem.”

Mona’s words were a puzzle I was nowhere near solving when a knock sounded on the door.

I was resigned to the delay. “Come on. Let’s go up.”

She nodded, wiping at her tears.

Unable to help myself, I hugged her one more time, silently promising both her and myself that this was the beginning. No matter what she said, no matter what darkness or trials waited for us, or what events in her past held her hostage, my feelings for her would never change.

Tonight was the beginning, not the end.





15





Relativistic Momentum and Energy





Mona





From the road, you would never know that the modest brownstone was an awesome twentieth-century Chicago-gangster-themed bed and breakfast. Situated in a quiet neighborhood, with single-family homes, parks, and coffee shops and restaurants at each corner, it looked like any of the other brownstones.

And that was exactly why I’d chosen it. Well, that and the huge bathtub, the relatively reasonable off-season price, and the milk and cookies available in the kitchen 24 hours a day.

My embarrassment was a great distraction from all the feelings churned up during our limo ride, and I did my best to not make the situation any more awkward for our driver. He was nice enough to give us his jacket, his shirt, and act like Abram’s request was perfectly normal. The shirt was for Abram since I’d used his as a towel. The jacket was for me since my dress was torn. I didn’t remember it tearing. But, then again, fabric cohesion had been the last thing on my mind when Abram helped me take it off.

I muttered only one anytime-phrase, “So, it has come to this,” while Abram held out the jacket for me to put on, his eyes glinting with reluctant amusement.

But I still didn’t have any shoes. Therefore, Abram insisted on carrying me to the gate where I punched in the code, and then to the door, where I punched in the other code. Once inside, he didn’t put me down, instead whisper-asking me where we were going. It was late, and the rest of the guests and house staff were definitely asleep.

First, we had to swing by the kitchen to pick up our room key where the owner had hidden it. He then carried me up two flights of stairs. Our room took up the whole of the top floor. Walls had obviously been moved during the remodel, sectioning off the stairs from the rest of the space, with only one door accessing the entire suite.

Again, once inside, he didn’t immediately put me down. He seemed to pause, glancing at the sitting area with a dark brown leather couch, the small mahogany bar in the far corner, the big screen TV mounted to the wall, and the black-and-white picture of Frank “The Enforcer” Nitti.

The gangster looked slightly confused, his eyes focused someplace above the camera, his hair parted to one side. If I didn’t already know he was a gangster, I would’ve guessed he was a butcher. Or a baker. But not a candlestick maker.

As though suddenly deciding something, Abram carried me into the bedroom, twisted left, then right, conveying us to the bathroom before finally placing me back on my feet.

“There. You probably want to . . .” He pulled his hand through his hair, looking unsure and frustrated with himself. “Or maybe you don’t.”

I caught him by the hand before he could turn to leave. Swallowing around a lump of uncertainty, I held him in place and waited until he gave me his eyes.

I told him the truth. “I want to be brave with you.”

His gaze softened, warmed.

So I quickly added before I could overthink it, “Will you take a bath with me?”

Abram’s eyes widened, and he held still, looking caught, torn. “Uh.”

“We won’t do anything,” I promised, giving him a beseeching half-smile. “It’s just, I don’t want to be alone, and we’re both impressively dirty right now.”

He chuckled, his eyes shifting to the side, glancing at the bathtub. And then he did a double take, noting roughly, “That’s a huge tub.”

I nodded, hope fluttering in my chest. “Yes. It is.”

“Fuck,” he said on a breath, the word one of deep despair, making me smile.

“Come on.” I tugged on his hand.

His eyes came back to mine, even more conflicted, and his feet remained rooted in place. “No, Mona. No. I’ll, uh. I’ll come in later, after you’re done.”