right to snap at Whitney like that.
He sighed heavily and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. His finger moved over the screen as he dialed the only person he trusted for advice.
“About damn time you call!” Mick’s irritated tone carried across the airwaves.
“I know,” Eddie agreed. “So—how do I fix this?”
* * * *
Whitney steered her car into the open spot in the garage next to Mick’s, noting Eddie had parked his truck in the driveway. Her 80
Lolita Lopez
stomach churned at the sight of his vehicle. That meant he was home, and they would have to talk about breakfast. The bigger question would also arise. Where the hell was this relationship going?
For a moment, she considered backing out and heading to a friend’s house to crash for the night. Running away from an uncomfortable confrontation was so much more appealing than facing it head-on. Oddly, Whitney had no problem with directness when it came to work. She’d fired lazy interns and told off pushy publicists without blinking an eye, but this? This scared the shit out of her.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she tried to decide whether or not to flee. After a minute of waffling, she growled in frustration and killed the engine. Her finger stabbed the garage door button, and she reluctantly climbed out of her car. She slung her purse over one shoulder and gathered her courage before marching into the lion’s den.
Whitney stepped into the kitchen from the laundry room and immediately noticed the brown paper bag on the counter. Cartons stamped with the logo of her very favorite Italian restaurant were stacked on either side. Someone had uncorked a bottle of wine. She snuck a peek in the fridge and discovered that delicious chocolate and caramel cheesecake she always ordered at that restaurant.
Her attention was drawn away from the delectable dessert in the fridge by the sound of voices from the living room. She placed her purse on the counter and went to investigate. What she found knocked her for six as her British girlfriend, Rebecca, would say.
There were collages everywhere. White poster boards covered in pictures sat on the couch and chairs and were propped up against the wall. Eddie kneeled next to a photo box and flicked through the contents. There were stacks of video tapes and CDs in jewels cases all around Mick’s perch on the coffee table. His laptop was out and surrounded by a dozen thumb drives.
“What in the world is all this?” She announced her appearance with a question and stepped into the living room.
Between Friends
81
Eddie hopped to his feet. “Whitney!”
Her stomach flip-flopped. “Eddie.”
Mick glanced from face to face. She glanced at him and then turned her focus back to Eddie as he crossed the distance between them. He tentatively reached out for her but stopped halfway. He looked almost afraid. Of what, she wondered.
Rejection. The word came to mind so blindingly fast. He was afraid she’d reject him.
She mustered an encouraging smile and took his hand. He visibly relaxed and interlaced their fingers. “I’m sorry, Whitney. This morning was inexcusable. I shouldn’t have snapped at you or shut down like that.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed. You’re right. It’s not any of my business.”
“No,” he said with a strident shake of his head. “It is your business. You’ve shared so much with me, with us”—he turned toward Mick— “about your life. You’ve even told us about the painful things, about your mother’s drug problems and her overdose, about your aunt abandoning you in the CPS office, and about growing up in foster care. The least I can do is tell you about my time in the military.”
She gestured around the room with her free hand. “So…this?”
Mick grinned and stood up. “After you left this morning, I started thinking about what you said. You’re right. You can’t compete with the history Eddie and I share.”
Her chest constricted at that
He sighed heavily and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. His finger moved over the screen as he dialed the only person he trusted for advice.
“About damn time you call!” Mick’s irritated tone carried across the airwaves.
“I know,” Eddie agreed. “So—how do I fix this?”
* * * *
Whitney steered her car into the open spot in the garage next to Mick’s, noting Eddie had parked his truck in the driveway. Her 80
Lolita Lopez
stomach churned at the sight of his vehicle. That meant he was home, and they would have to talk about breakfast. The bigger question would also arise. Where the hell was this relationship going?
For a moment, she considered backing out and heading to a friend’s house to crash for the night. Running away from an uncomfortable confrontation was so much more appealing than facing it head-on. Oddly, Whitney had no problem with directness when it came to work. She’d fired lazy interns and told off pushy publicists without blinking an eye, but this? This scared the shit out of her.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she tried to decide whether or not to flee. After a minute of waffling, she growled in frustration and killed the engine. Her finger stabbed the garage door button, and she reluctantly climbed out of her car. She slung her purse over one shoulder and gathered her courage before marching into the lion’s den.
Whitney stepped into the kitchen from the laundry room and immediately noticed the brown paper bag on the counter. Cartons stamped with the logo of her very favorite Italian restaurant were stacked on either side. Someone had uncorked a bottle of wine. She snuck a peek in the fridge and discovered that delicious chocolate and caramel cheesecake she always ordered at that restaurant.
Her attention was drawn away from the delectable dessert in the fridge by the sound of voices from the living room. She placed her purse on the counter and went to investigate. What she found knocked her for six as her British girlfriend, Rebecca, would say.
There were collages everywhere. White poster boards covered in pictures sat on the couch and chairs and were propped up against the wall. Eddie kneeled next to a photo box and flicked through the contents. There were stacks of video tapes and CDs in jewels cases all around Mick’s perch on the coffee table. His laptop was out and surrounded by a dozen thumb drives.
“What in the world is all this?” She announced her appearance with a question and stepped into the living room.
Between Friends
81
Eddie hopped to his feet. “Whitney!”
Her stomach flip-flopped. “Eddie.”
Mick glanced from face to face. She glanced at him and then turned her focus back to Eddie as he crossed the distance between them. He tentatively reached out for her but stopped halfway. He looked almost afraid. Of what, she wondered.
Rejection. The word came to mind so blindingly fast. He was afraid she’d reject him.
She mustered an encouraging smile and took his hand. He visibly relaxed and interlaced their fingers. “I’m sorry, Whitney. This morning was inexcusable. I shouldn’t have snapped at you or shut down like that.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed. You’re right. It’s not any of my business.”
“No,” he said with a strident shake of his head. “It is your business. You’ve shared so much with me, with us”—he turned toward Mick— “about your life. You’ve even told us about the painful things, about your mother’s drug problems and her overdose, about your aunt abandoning you in the CPS office, and about growing up in foster care. The least I can do is tell you about my time in the military.”
She gestured around the room with her free hand. “So…this?”
Mick grinned and stood up. “After you left this morning, I started thinking about what you said. You’re right. You can’t compete with the history Eddie and I share.”
Her chest constricted at that
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