Why the hell was he acting like… like… it was just a matter of talking? Like I’d want to pick back up on the way we had been with each other where we teased each other? This asshole was going to make me burst a fucking blood vessel.
Breathe, Lenny. This isn’t about you. Be decent. You don’t have to shit out sugarplums for this dipshit.
With a breath in through my nose and right back out, I managed not to bite down hard on my back teeth as I got my shit back together. Again. “Unless it’s about something relating to Maio House,” I told him carefully, “or about what you still haven’t wanted to bring up on your own, there’s no reason for us to talk, Jonah. I’ve said everything I needed to say already. I told you how I feel about anything you might want to explain.” I paused. “I don’t care.”
His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek as he shifted his weight around. He fisted his hands again as he leaned forward, managing to keep his voice and features even, like this wasn’t going downhill and I wasn’t shooting down his bullshit. “I understand you don’t want to hear it.” Those eyes my favorite color in the world moved over my face again, slowly, so, so slowly it made me uncomfortable. “But I need to explain,” he said, never blinking, or breaking eye contact or doing anything but laser-beaming that gaze on me. “I want to tell you what’s happened.” He swallowed. “I need to tell you.”
To give him credit, everything about his body language, from the way the tendons at his neck were straining to what looked like anguish flicking within his eyes, said he was being genuine. He genuinely thought he wanted to talk to me. He wanted to tell me whatever it was that he felt he needed to say.
He believed his words.
But just because he believed them didn’t mean that I did. Because I didn’t. He’d had his chance. Chances. I had given him more than enough time to do something as simple as email or text me back, and he hadn’t. Sure I blocked his number, blocked him on every social media website possible, but I hadn’t blocked his emails… and they still hadn’t shown up.
“I don’t care about why or when or how anymore, Jonah. What I want is to know what you’re doing here.”
“I’m here to talk to you.” He set that big hand back on the top of my desk, just inches away from my keyboard. “Give me a chance to explain. Please.”
What was it that he wanted to explain? Why he had disappeared? Why he hadn’t called me back? Why he hadn’t wanted to be part of… my life? Why he’d decided to come back now?
Did he think I was a fucking mind reader? Because I wasn’t. Of course I wasn’t.
His fingers slid half an inch closer, his fingertips touching the edge of my keyboard. I couldn’t help but take in those endless, brown fingers with their neat, short nails, and the scarred and forever slightly swollen knuckles. He slid it even closer to me. “I know I’ve made a mess of things, but I want to explain—”
I tore my eyes away from his fingers. “There are a lot of things I want that I know I’m never going to get. That’s how things work sometimes.” I shoved my chair forward even though I was already as close to my desk as I could get. “I have a phone call I need to take in a minute, so…” I glanced toward the door to give him a clue. Get the fuck out.
Jonah opened his mouth just as the phone literally started to ring—I didn’t know who was calling, but whoever it was was my new favorite person—and then shut it. A breath later, he got to his feet, bringing him up, up, up so that he towered over my desk. And then he irritated me even more with his next words.
“This conversation isn’t over, Lenny.”
And before I could tell him that it sure as hell was—at least until he told me what the fuck it was that he wanted—he was gone.
But I hadn’t missed the expression on his face or the tension in his shoulders as he walked out.
I couldn’t stand him. I couldn’t fucking stand him, I thought as I picked up the ringing office phone and brought it to my ear. “This is Lenny.”
“This call is from the IRS. Don’t hang up—”
I rolled my eyes and hung up, still feeling more than a little grateful. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to be ready to deal with him… but I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know what he was doing and what he was planning on doing.
What I did know right then, without looking at the clock, was that there was a conversation I desperately needed to have. One of the most important conversations of my life. Even if I was dreading it more than I had ever dreaded anything.
Then, after that talk, I really did need to get an answer from Jonah the Jackass about what the fuck he was doing.
I eyed the clock on my computer for a second and got to my feet. I couldn’t put it off anymore. Now or never.
Fucking shit.
Grabbing my phone off the top of the desk, I dialed the number from memory as I headed around my desk and picked up my backpack from where I left it leaning against the coat rack that was older than I was. I could do this. The phone rang three times before the man on the other end picked up.
“Want to meet up for lunch again, child of the corn?”
“Hey, Grandpa. Yeah.” I pulled my keys out of the backpack pocket and headed out of the office, wiggling a finger at the people standing at the edges of the mats while they waited for their turn to do whatever it was they were training. “I’d rather come home for lunch though. Do you want something specific?”
He made a funny little cooing noise that wasn’t meant for me, telling me he wasn’t totally paying attention before replying with, “Double of whatever you’re bringing.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in thirty,” I told him, shouldering the outside door open.
“What’s wrong?” Grandpa Gus asked suddenly, and it didn’t escape me the fact that he asked what was wrong, not asking if something was wrong.
He knew me too well.
And, God, he was going to lose his shit after we had our talk. Fuck.
Knowing that made it hard to keep toeing that line. “Nothing life-or-death. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
I didn’t like the way he said “okay,” but if I didn’t like it, I deserved it.
Fuck!
Thirty-five minutes later, I opened the door to the house I had lived at on and off my entire life, holding a bag of burritos and tortilla chips in one hand.
And I was sweating my damn ass off despite the fact it was in the high forties outside.
But as I went through the back door connected to the kitchen that had been completely remodeled a few years ago and then through the hallway that led to the living room of the house that Grandpa had bought a thousand years before I’d been born, I listened.
Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Usually the television was on, or there was something playing over the speakers in the living room, or somebody was making some kind of noise, but there was none of that.
Hmm.
I kicked off my shoes and started creeping down the hallway, clutching the bag of burritos and hoping the paper bag wouldn’t make too much noise.
Still, there was nothing.
I narrowed my eyes and peeked into the living room to find it empty. I held my breath and listened. And that was when I heard it. Just the slightest, most quiet little noise…