Forrester turns on the heater as soon as the engine is on, and less than a minute later, I’m nice and toasty on the outside. On the inside, it’s a different story.
“I’m sorry about tonight.”
“I’d believe that if you were being honest with me.”
“Shit, Forrester. Nadine and the divorce are getting to me. That’s why I wanted a year off.”
He sighs loudly. He’s probably feeling guilty now. It’s not the complete truth, but it’s not a lie either.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to come back. I know. Listen, if you need to talk like old times, my door is always open.”
I chuckle. “You want to be my therapist again? You might need to fire me after our first session.”
Forrester laughs at my joke. If he only knew it’s not a laughing matter.
“Good point. I can refer you to someone else. I’d hate for you to feel like your life is unraveling again. I don’t want to see you derail.”
“That’s the last thing I want. You know that.”
He doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s wearing his therapist hat, even though this isn’t a session. Old habits are hard to break, I guess.
“Listen, I want you to take time off. Go visit your parents in the vineyard. If you leave me your lesson plan for the week, I can cover for you.”
I whip my head to face him. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. You’re one of the best teachers I have. I won’t lose you on account of a mental breakdown.”
I open and shut my mouth. Here I am, hiding a truth that can devastate my friend’s institution, and he’s going out of his way to help me.
I feel like a fucking prick.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s only one thing you can say. It’s ‘Yes, boss, I’m taking a break.’”
Shaking my head, I look out the window, noticing we’re already back on Chiara’s street. A moment later, Forrester parks next to my truck. Before I can open the door, he turns to me.
“I mean it, Alistair. I don’t want to see your face next week. I expect your lesson plan by the end of the day tomorrow.”
“Okay, I hear ya. Anything else?”
“Yes, bring me a couple of bottles of wine from the vineyard, will you?”
I smirk. “Now the truth arises. No worries, Forrester. I’ll bring you a case.”
I hop into my truck but take my time turning the engine on. Instead, I call Chiara again. It’s past two in the morning, but I still get her voice mail.
When I finally put the truck in Drive, it takes a Herculean effort to drive away from her building. I’ll have to suck it up and wait until tomorrow.
37
Chiara
I blink my eyes open, and a sharp pain shoots up my forehead. There’s a weird taste in my mouth, a mixture of tequila and tortilla chips. It takes me a moment to get my bearings. I’m on a couch, but it’s not mine.
Loud snoring coming from the king-size bed to my right snaps my memories into place. I remember where I am now. I came to Robbie’s house after school. I was upset about the whole deal with Alistair, so instead of moping in my apartment alone, I agreed to come over for a The Big Bang Theory marathon.
Phillip, Valerie, and Harold were also here. I see two people on Robbie’s bed though.
Oh God. That must be Phillip.
I get up and tiptoe to Robbie’s side of the bed.
“Hey, Robbie, wake up.” I shake his shoulder, which only makes him turn on his side and hide his face under a pillow.
Phillip moans in his sleep and slings his arm over his face. He’s shirtless, but I hope he’s not naked under the covers.
“Fine. Be like that. It’s not like we have a quiz in half an hour.”
Phillip rolls over suddenly, falling off the bed. He sits up tense and wide-eyed.
“Shit! What time is it?”
“Quarter to seven.”
He jumps up, and I’m relieved to see he’s wearing boxer shorts at least. But when he turns, mortification fills me. Hello, morning wood. I look away as heat rushes to my cheeks.
“Dio Santo. Cover yourself, please.”
Robbie sits up, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on? Why are you two being so noisy?”
“I’m going to be late for practice.” Phillip dashes to the bathroom and closes the door.
I spot the tequila bottles on Robbie’s desk, plus the leftovers of our dinner, and get queasy.
“How much did we drink last night?”
“Judging by the pounding in my head, I’d say too much.” He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and frowns. “Valerie texted me. She said we need to check ET Online.”
“Why?”
Robbie lifts his gaze, meeting mine. “Something to do with Alistair.”
The floor seems to vanish beneath my feet. “Oh my God. What?”
“She didn’t say. And before you ask, she doesn’t know that you and Mr. Walsh are an item.”
Frantically, I begin to search for my purse. My phone is in it.
