Time (Laws of Physics #3)(8)

That made her flinch, her eyes blinking, a crack forming in her stony exterior as though I’d touched on a vulnerability, a fear. “I’m not—I’m not bullying her.” Her gaze, now looking agitated, shifted to Mona at my shoulder. “I would never do that, I would never—”

“Yeah. You are.” Some protective instinct had me stepping to the side, blocking Mona from her view. She didn’t need this, especially not from her own sister. “She’s not responsible for your screwups. No one is responsible but you. You don’t like it? Too bad. You made the shit sandwich, now you have to eat it, all by yourself. Want to whine to someone? Call your brother. But back off Mona.”

“Abram.” Mona squeezed my hand, her voice—again—sounded beseeching, and my name on her lips, in her lovely voice, acted like a pin puncturing my swelling fury.

Turning, I stiffened at the sight of her conflicted gaze, and my stomach dropped. But I fought against the reflex to apologize. I was contrite, but I wasn’t sorry. I’d never be sorry for defending her. Mona’s sister—and her brother—they didn’t know her, didn’t understand how sensitive she was. They didn’t take care of her or look out for her like she deserved, like she needed. They made assumptions that were unequivocally false, and it pissed me off.

I swallowed the reflex to say sorry, and I faced her fully. I brought her hand to my lips and kissed the tender junction between her middle and index finger.

“What can I do?” I asked.

Mona’s lips pressed together, her steady stare looking no less conflicted, maybe even a little resigned. “Give me a minute to talk to my sister.”

My hands tightened on hers and a jolt of alarm made it difficult to breathe. I wanted to deny her. I wanted to drag her out of this room and apartment. I wanted to bring her back with me to the West Coast for the rest of the week and take care of her.

I swallowed those reflexes too. Working my jaw, I nodded. I stepped forward and kissed her quickly. I pressed my forehead to hers.

And, with effort, I forced myself to say, “Whatever you need.”





3





Celestial Mechanics





Abram





I waited in the room where Mona was staying, a small guestroom with a sleeper sofa and sparse furniture. Tearing off and tossing my outer layer of winter clothes to the dresser, I pushed my hands through my hair and fastened it back. It needed a cut.

Though the space was cramped, I had an uninterrupted span of nine feet and paced—back and forth—while studying her phone number and email until they were branded on my brain. I would never be without a means to contact her again.

You will see her again. After today, you can talk to her any time you want.

As much as I told myself we had plenty of time, I couldn’t shake the notion that we had no time. In just a few hours, I needed to be on a plane. Despite acknowledging that this afternoon was just the first of many I’d be seeing her during the tour, purpose obsessed me, I was determined: we needed to make plans.

Definite plans. Commitments of time. Promises.

Unfortunately, after the shit-show with Lisa, everything I’d wanted to share and discuss and resolve with Mona had been eclipsed, muddied by her sister’s breathtaking selfishness. I couldn’t believe how Lisa spoke to her, and that Mona allowed it.

You shouldn’t allow her or anyone else speak to you that way. You are so much more and better and worthy than you allow them to treat you.

The words rolled around in my mouth, souring my tongue. I wouldn’t speak them out loud. They would undoubtedly lead to an argument and I wasn’t here to pick a fight. But it wasn’t just Lisa, her brother was just as bad. Even now, days later, the memory of my last conversation with Leo had me seeing red.

“You’ll thank me,” he’d said, sounding convinced. I’d kept my temper up to that point, listening to him call her cold and calculating, emotionless. Every adjective out of his mouth made me want to reach through my phone and punch him in the face. “Just listen to me, I’m trying to help you.”

“I’m never going to thank you for this, Leo. And if you knew your sister—at all—you’d know that she is none of those things.”

“Abram, man, don’t tell me about my own sister.” He sounded irritated. “I’ve known Mona her entire life. She’s my sister. She doesn’t even like people touching her.”

I snapped. “And why the fuck do you think that is, Leo? You think people are just fucking born that way? You think that’s normal? Did it ever occur to you to ask her why that is?”

“Would you listen?” Now he was yelling. “I’ve asked her, okay? I asked her why. I asked if anyone hurt her. She said no, flat out.”

She said no? That was a surprise. Had she been lying? No. She wouldn’t lie. She wasn’t a liar, I believed that now. Mona didn’t lie unless it was to protect someone she loved, unless she felt like she had no choice. So maybe—like she said in Chicago years ago—it really is just as simple as: Mona doesn’t like unexpected touch.

That didn’t seem right either. I’d touched her unexpectedly without her flinching away.

Before I could think through this revelation, Leo exhaled loudly. “You’re being a fucking psycho about this. Stop. Just fucking stop. My answer is final. I’m not giving you her number so you can make an idiot of yourself. And yeah, she’s my sister, so I don’t want guys harassing her, okay? That includes you.”