Love Like Her (Against All Odds #3) - Claudia Y. Burgoa Page 0,42

long time. I move on top of him and begin to rock my body back and forth.

“You think this is on-demand?” He smirks. “It’s hard to keep up with you. No pun intended.”

I giggle. “So, where are you going?”

“My first stop is to Colorado,” he answers, giving me a sad smile. “Afterward, I’ll go back to Costa Rica. I’m going to extend my trip for a month or two.”

His penetrating gaze holds mine. I wish he didn’t look at me like this. Like he could love me. Like I could be someone important to him. Like we could be something. Because I know we’ll never be.

“Come with me,” he offers.

“I will,” I joke, reaching for his hardness and slipping it inside me. “After I ride you.”

“Liv.” He holds me in place. “I’m serious. Why don’t you pack and come with me?”

Leaning closer to him, I whisper in his ear, “In another life.”

While we lazily move our hips, I wonder if there’s another dimension where we end up together or where we never meet. Maybe this friendship is beginning to get complicated for us, or just for me.

“Stop thinking, Liv,” he orders.

He hates when I think while we’re together. What would he say if he found out what I think of while we’re together? He might laugh and call me a fool—a silly woman who still thinks like a girl.

As I begin to shake and quiver, he mumbles, “I wish you’d say yes. That you’ll come with me.”

If he wasn’t mourning and trying to escape reality, I’d believe that he wants me with him. I know better. People say things they don’t mean when they’re in pain.

By the time July arrives, Dad and I have finally merged the three East Coast branches into one. We acquired a building in Quincy, Massachusetts. Instead of paying an expensive lease in the middle of downtown Boston, we own a place where we can have all the employees from the DC, New York, and Boston branches.

Dad asks me to stay another year in Massachusetts. The same day I agree, Mom calls me. The doctor diagnosed her with stage 2 breast cancer. The news feels like a punch in the gut. Even though Canada has a great health system, I convince her to move to Boston so I can take care of her.

I find the best oncologist in Boston. Two weeks after she moves in with me, she’s scheduled for surgery.

Eros: I don’t want to take this personally, but your one-word responses for the past month worry me. Are you okay?

Eros: Are WE okay?

I choose not to answer. If I speak to anyone about what’s happening with Mom, I might start crying, and I’ll never stop. Dad knows about the diagnosis because Mom reached out to him too. She wants to make sure I’m taken care of if she doesn’t make it. Every time Dad brings the subject up in our conversation or our texts, I stop him.

Once the doctor tells me that Mom is doing well, I’ll break the silence.

Not answering the texts doesn’t stop Eros from trying to reach me. He calls. Letting it go to voicemail doesn’t work. I answered after the fifth attempt.

“Hello.”

“Finally.” He sighs. “What’s going on, Livy?”

“What do you mean?” I play dumb.

“The last time I heard from you, you said your mom was sick,” he states. “It’s been almost three weeks. Since then, I only get monosyllabic answers from you.”

“I’m not in a good place.”

“No kidding.” He sighs. “What’s happening?”

“I’d rather not discuss this until she’s in remission.”

“Listen, I don’t know much about the subject, but that can be years,” he says, exhaling harshly.

“She’s having a double mastectomy tomorrow,” I say. “After that, she has a few rounds of radiation and chemotherapy.”

“Are you in Canada?”

“No. I brought her to Boston with me.”

“Good.” He sighs, relieved.

My doorbell rings. “Hey, someone is at the door. I need to go. Can I call you later?”

“When is later?”

“I don’t know,” I say, as honestly as I can answer.

He hangs up the phone. If he’s upset, I don’t care. There are a million more important issues that need to be addressed before I worry about this call.

The doorbell rings again. I roll my eyes. The stupid intercom broke down last week, and the management company hasn’t fixed it yet. It’s probably Mom. She keeps forgetting the keys in the house. I should’ve gone with her to the mall, but she wanted to go alone. Perhaps because I would’ve paid for whatever she needed to