I guess I didn’t do too bad. Zahra’s had a permanent grin plastered across her face since she found out about the book signing. My only mistake was not swearing Juliana to secrecy about the reason behind the event.
I don’t want Zahra to look too much into things. But part of me wonders if it’s too late for that based on the way she smiles at me like I make her genuinely happy.
My driver drops us off back at the penthouse.
This elevator ride is different from the last, with Zahra cracking open her books like she wants to double-check for any water damage after our tumble. She’s done it twice already, but I don’t fault her for being protective over her new prized possessions.
We stroll into the apartment, and Zahra scurries away to put her books back in her luggage and take a shower. I do the same, changing into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a faded Dreamland logo.
“So, what’s the plan?” She walks down the stairs in a matching jogger set. The fabric outlines every curve on her body, and I find it difficult to be a decent man and look away. Except I’m not anything close to proper when it comes to Zahra, so I take the time to check her out.
She rounds the counter and looks up at me. “You’re going to burn a hole through my clothes if you keep staring at me like that.”
“Remove your clothes then. Problem solved.” I grab onto her hips and tug her closer.
She places a hand against my chest, right above my heart. It races faster in my chest at the registration of her touch.
Her stomach lets out the loudest protest ever. She slaps a hand over it. “How embarrassing.”
I cringe at my lack of thinking. We haven’t eaten anything since the quick lunch on the plane.
I release her and walk to the drawer filled with takeout menus. “Take your pick.”
She flips through the brochures and mini menus before plucking out one for pizza. “When in New York?” She lifts a shoulder.
“You pick that when you could have Ruth’s Chris takeout?”
“Who’s Ruth Chris?”
I groan. “Pizza it is.”
Dinner arrives an hour later, and I set it up on the coffee table. We both settle onto the accent rug in front of the massive fireplace in the middle of the living room. I’ve never enjoyed eating at a dining table. It reminds me of the time when my mother was alive, back when my father would make it home sober enough for us to eat as a family.
“So you said this was one of your properties. How many do you have exactly?” She takes a big bite of her pizza.
I do the mental math. “Twenty-eight.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks lose some of their color. “Okay. Wow. Which one is your favorite?”
I take a bite of my pizza to give me enough time to consider her question. “Honestly, I don’t have one.”
Her mouth gapes apart. “None of them feel like home?”
“Home is wherever I’m needed for work.”
She gapes at me.
“There’s some climates I prefer more than others. Like Chicago is great in the summer but my dick is subject to frostbite during the winter.”
“And Dreamland?”
I toe around her question carefully. “Dreamland is different.”
“How so?”
“There were a lot of bad memories there for me.”
Her brows pull together. “Oh. It’s surprising you wanted to become the Director then.”
“I was interested in taking the park to the next level. It was in my best interest to move past the issues holding me back.”
It’s not technically a lie. Yet her smile still feels like a punch to the gut.
You have no choice but to keep the whole truth from her. You’re too close to finishing to jeopardize everything now.
She smiles. “Do you feel better about being there now?”
“I met someone who makes my time there tolerable.”
The flush spreading across her cheeks makes my stomach roll. It’s hard to eat anything. “Tolerable? I’ve got to step it up.”
She’s done more than enough. I clear my throat. “Enough questions about me. I’m curious about something.”
“What?”
“Tell me about your pins.”
Her entire body language changes from the one question. “It’s not a cute story.” She looks out at the view behind me.
“I didn’t ask for one.” I grab her hand like she’s done for me every time I need to talk about something difficult.
Her body loosens, and she releases a deep breath. “The first day I attended therapy was the same day I got my very first pin.”
I could never imagine someone like Zahra going to therapy. My father told me it was for weak people who were so pathetic, they needed someone else to solve their problems.
“You went to therapy? Why?”
“Because I realized that I couldn’t fix myself without putting in the hard work.”
“But you’re—” I get stuck on finding the right words.
Her laugh sounds sad. “What? I’m nice? Happy? Smiling?”
“Well, yes.” Isn’t that how it works? Why would anyone who’s happy go to therapy?
Her eyes drop to her lap. “Everyone has bad times. And for me, I—there—” She lets out a heavy breath.
Zahra feeling distraught? That’s new.
“About two years ago, I fell into a deep depression.” She stares down at her hands.
I blink. “What?”
Her cheeks flush. “It’s true. I didn’t know it at the time, but Claire was the one who officially told me I needed to get help. She even helped me search for a therapist and told me to try to talk to someone about how I felt.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
She sniffles. “I don’t even know why I’m crying right now.” She furiously wipes her damp cheeks.
I swipe away a tear she missed.
“I know I’m in a better place. But…God. When Lance broke my heart, I could hardly get out of bed. I used up all my vacation days for the year because I wasn’t sleeping much and it felt like a chore to even get up. It was like I was going through the motions of life but not really living. Barely even eating. And the thoughts—” Her voice cracks, and I swear I feel it like a punch to the heart. “I hated myself so much. For months, I blamed myself. Because what kind of stupid woman wouldn’t realize a man was cheating on her? I felt pathetic and used.”
“You’re many amazing things, and pathetic isn’t one of them.” My blood heats at the idea of her thinking anything bad about herself.
She sniffs again. “I know that now. But at the time, I felt so weak because nothing I did could stop this feeling of hopelessness that took over. I tried. God, I really did because I never knew what it was like to be anything but happy. But the harder I tried to put on a face, the worse things got. I eventually hit a scary point where I wondered if life was worth it.” She looks down at her trembling hands. “I—I never thought I would be the kind of person who thought I might be better off gone. I’m ashamed I ever even considered it.”
I’m tempted to find Lance and pummel his face to match a fraction of the hurt Zahra went through because someone as sweet as her wouldn’t need a semicolon pin if it wasn’t for him.
“This is me now. But who I was before, when everything happened—I was a broken shell. I forgot to believe in myself when it mattered most.”
The hurt in her voice chokes me, making every breath difficult. Her eyes, always expressive, show every ounce of pain she’s felt because of that asshole.
I crawl over to her side of the table and pull her into my lap. She buries her face into my shirt, fisting the material of it as if she needs to hold on.
I’ve felt many different things in my life, but Zahra seeking comfort from me brings out something in me I can’t pin down. It makes me feel needed. Protective. Vindictive toward anyone who hurts her.
I really like her. Our relationship is slowly evolving from something casual into something more, and I’m not entirely against it.
I tug her tight against my chest.
“Claire was the one who started my pin collection after my very first therapy session. She bought me an Iggy the Alien one she found on Etsy, but instead of him holding up his three fingers in peace, he was flipping everyone off. It was a symbolic fuck you to Lance.”
I shake my head with a smile. “That’s illegal trademark infringement.”
“Sue me.” She grins.
I smile back. “How did you go from one pin to a whole backpack covered in them?”
“Claire made it her mission to find me the most outrageous pins each week. Every time I came back from my weekly session, she would unveil it. Now she gets me two a year, one for my birthday and one for Christmas.”
“She’s a good friend.”
“The best kind. I’m lucky to have her in my life. As a roommate and a best friend.”
I squeeze her closer as if it could alleviate some of the pain. “But now you’re better?” I try to hide the concern in my voice, but some of it shines through.
She nods. “Definitely.”
“For what it’s worth, he never deserved you.”
And you do?
“Thanks.” Her voice is a whisper, sounding so small and unsure.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you wear the pins then every day?”
“As a reminder and a promise to myself that no matter how hard life gets, I’ll keep pushing.” Her watery smile makes my whole chest tighten to the point of it being difficult to breathe.
I grab a lock of her hair and tuck it behind her ear. “You’re ridiculously amazing.”
“Because I wear awesome pins?”
“Because you’re you.”
I press my lips against hers. It’s a soft kiss, not meant to tease or provoke. I’m not sure what it’s for but I know it feels right.
She sighs and it makes something weird happen in my chest. Like I can make her content.
I press my forehead against hers. “One day I hope I can be strong like you. To maybe talk some things out that have been weighing on me.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Strong like me?”
I nod. My throat grows tighter as if it wants to stop me from spilling secrets.
Don’t do it. You open up this kind of wound and you’re asking for her to pick at your weaknesses.
But what if she’s not like him. Zahra is kind, loving, and everything good in the world. She’s nothing like my father. She wouldn’t judge me. No. Because she actually likes me—the complete opposite of him.
An asshole who doesn’t care about making others cry, beg, or poor. Someone who’s chosen himself time and time again because if I didn’t protect myself, no one would.
“I—I was very affected by my mother’s death.”
Zahra’s entire face changes. Her smile drops and her eyes soften around the edges. I’m tempted to stop. To erase that look and never bring up the subject again.
But she surprises me. “A kiss for a secret?”
I nod, unable to get any words out. She presses her lips to mine. The feel of her body against mine urges me forward. To take. To own. To make her remember who I am, regardless of my hidden weaknesses disguised as secrets.
I dominate her lips, branding her with my tongue. Showing her I’m still the man she likes no matter what I might say that makes me seem less than.
Don’t be stupid. She wouldn’t think that.
She pulls away and cups my cheek. “My secret.”
I sigh. Am I really going to tell her about this? Can I even do it? That part of my past is under lock and key, submerged somewhere deep within the crevices of my darkest memories.
She wraps her legs and arms around me. Her warmth trickles into my skin, bringing back some kind of warmth to my chilled veins.
I release a tense breath. “My dad was a latchkey kid who had access to anything money could buy. Private jets. Boats. A full-time wait staff. But none of it mattered once my mom came into his life. They are—were the closest thing to true love. At least that’s what I was told because I was too young to remember much about them together. But Declan always said that whatever my mom wanted, my dad granted.”
Zahra pulls back. “That’s so sad.”
Shit. “Don’t feel sorry for my dad. He’s an asshole.”
“I feel sorry for all of you.”
I clear my scratchy throat. “My parents loved Dreamland as much as my grandfather…until everything changed.”
“When your mom got sick?”
I nod.
“I’m sorry. No child should lose their mother at such a young age like you did.” Her hand reaches out and grabs mine. I open my fist, letting our fingers lock together. The simple gesture shouldn’t mean much but holding on to Zahra feels like clutching onto a lifeline. Like I could hold on to her or get swooped up into the darkest corners of my mind.
“One of the last memories I have with her was at Dreamland.”
Zahra nods, her eyes reflecting some sort of understanding.
“My mom was everything to us. And the few good memories I have of my parents together include my dad waiting on her hand and foot. If my mom smiled at something, my dad found a way to own more of it. If she cried about something, my dad was hell-bent on demolishing it.”
Zahra shoots me a wobbly smile. “He sounds like a man in love.”
“Love. Such a simple word for something so devastating.”
“Nothing that good can be given freely.” Her hand squeezes mine even tighter, cutting off any chance for blood flow. I’m not sure who she does it for but I’m grateful for the grounding caress of her thumb brushing across my knuckles.
“My dad was never the same after she passed, and neither were we.” My eyes focus on the fireplace beside us rather than Zahra’s face because I can’t take her sympathy. Not when I don’t deserve it. The selfish monster I’ve become over the past two decades is a far cry from the boy she pities.
I stare at the dancing flames. “My father treated us like shit because I think he was scared. Because taking care of us on his own meant accepting that my mother was truly gone, and he wasn’t ready for that. He abandoned us when we needed him most and replaced himself with someone none of us recognized. And instead of losing one parent, we lost both. One to cancer, and the other to his vices.” My voice cracks.
“We protected him because we thought he would get better. Looking back, we were too young to know any better. We should’ve told someone about his issues. But he kept his alcoholism so well hidden. Our grandfather was suspicious, sure, but we protected our father. Not out of loyalty for him, but maybe for our mother? I don’t know.”
“You were children.”
“But maybe if we had gotten him the help he needed early, we could’ve stopped the years of pain we felt after.” I shut my eyes, afraid Zahra might catch the wetness building in them.
Men don’t cry.
You’ve always been weak.
Pathetic.
All the memories flood my head at once.
“Pain tests us all in different ways.”
I nod. “I think for him, he ruined what everyone else loved because he couldn’t stand to lose the one person he cared for most in the world.”
“And what do you think he ruined for you?”
“The one thing I was good at. My brothers had sports, or comic books, or special clubs. But me? I was the odd one out. The disappointing artistic one who talked too much and dreamed too big.”
Zahra’s lips remain pressed together, although I can read a hundred questions in her eyes.
I exhale. “I got to the point that I started resenting myself. All I wanted to do was make my dad happy, but instead, I proved to him time and time again why I failed. Why I was the weakest of his sons. Why my mother was better off never seeing me become such a pathetic child.”
A tear trickles down Zahra’s face. “You can’t believe that.”
Look at you making her cry. Always the same disappointment.
I shake the thought away. “I—I don’t know. But I changed. There was a shift in my mindset after—” I stop myself from revealing too much. “I withdrew. Learned everything I could from my brothers and stopped caring about anything but proving my father wrong. I spent every day proving why I wasn’t a disappointment.”
“At the expense of what you loved?”
“It was a price to pay for peace. I didn’t think I would draw again—”
“Until you saw my atrocious drawings.”
I nod with a small smile. “Because I didn’t know it at the time, but I wanted you to see me.”
