Chapter 4

When the hotel front desk asked for ID, I realized I'd left my driver's license at home.

My phone was down to seven percent.

It was raining outside.

I stood in a corner of the lobby and called a coworker to ask if I could crash at his place.

The call didn't go through, but Christina's messages squeezed in first.

Christina: [Where are you?]

Christina: [Wes says you might be having an avoidant reaction.]

Christina: [Luke, don't make me worry.]

The word "worry" almost made me laugh.

Her worry always followed strict rules. It had to be certified by Wes first before it could ever get passed down to me.

I was about to turn off my phone when an unknown number called.

When I picked up, it was building management. "Is this Mr. Ferland? A man by the name Wes Perry fell downstairs at your building. Ms. Asbille asked you to come back with the medicine. She said you know where the first aid kit is."

I held the phone and said nothing for a long time.

The person on the other end prompted me. "Mr. Ferland?"

I asked, "Where's Christina?"

"She's staying with Mr. Perry. She said she can't really step away."

Rain pelted the hotel windows, thick and relentless.

Suddenly, I remembered last winter. I'd had acute gastroenteritis. The pain was so bad that my cold sweat soaked through the pillow.

Christina was out of town with Wes for one of his lectures.

I had called her.

Her reply was, "Use your breathing technique first. Don't blow physical discomfort up into a relationship demand."

In the end, I took a cab to the hospital by myself.

When I got home after the IV, the only thing she asked was why I hadn't filled out my emotion log for the day.

And I had actually apologized.

How pathetic.

I hung up on building management and took a cab back to get my ID.

When the elevator doors opened, Wes was sitting on a bench in the hallway. One of his pant legs was soaked.

Christina was crouched in front of him, wiping the muddy water off his hands.

The moment she saw me, she stood up. "Where's the first aid kit?"

I said, "I came back to get something."

Her face stiffened. "Wes sprained his ankle."

"So?"

"Luke, can you not sulk at a time like this?"

Wes tugged at her sleeve. "Christina, forget it. I'm fine."

He said he was fine, but his hand stayed pressed against his ankle.

That only made Christina more anxious. "Don't push yourself."

She turned to me. "Which shelf is the first aid kit on in the bedroom cabinet?"

"Second shelf on the left."

She rushed inside.

Wes looked up at me, and the warmth in his eyes finally faded. "Luke, you can't win."

I looked at him.

He smiled. "Christina needs someone who can help her build order, not emotional dead weight like you. You held on for seven years, and she still trusts me more."

One of the hallway lights was out.

Half his face was lit, the other half in shadow.

Now this looked like the real him.

That professional, restrained skin he'd always worn had finally cracked.

I asked, "You like her?"

Wes didn't deny it. "I'm a better fit for her than you are."

"Then take her."

He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it says."

Christina came out with the first aid kit just in time to hear the last line.

She stopped in her tracks.

Wes immediately went back to looking wounded. "Christina, I think Luke misunderstood me."

Christina didn't look at him.

She stared at me. "What do you mean, take me?"

I went inside to get my documents.

She followed me in, her voice starting to shake. "Luke, what do you take me for?"

I opened the drawer.

Driver's license, passport, contract. They were all there.

"The woman I once wanted to marry."

Her eyes reddened.

In seven years, it was the first time I'd seen her lose her composure in front of me.

A rare sight.

And a late one.

"Once?"

I put the documents in my bag. "Yes. Once."

Suddenly, she grabbed my wrist. "I'm not breaking up. A unilateral decision doesn't count."

I looked down at her hand.

That hand had pushed me away so many times.

When I wanted to hug her.

When I wanted to hold her hand.

When I asked if she could stop bringing Wes along on our dates.

She said I had poor boundaries.

Now she held on tight, her nails digging into my skin.

I pried her fingers off one by one. "Christina, you're the one who taught me this. Adults respect boundaries."

Wes called to her from the doorway. "Christina, I think my ankle's swelling up."

Christina went stiff. She turned around on instinct.

I dragged my suitcase out.

By the time she came after me again, the elevator had already arrived.

Just before the doors closed, I heard her ask in a hoarse voice, "Luke, do you really not want me anymore?"

I pressed the button for the first floor. "I really don't."