about how you’d buy her tampons without an ounce of self-consciousness.” Another look, and she squirmed again. “But…I guess I thought you’d…”
When she trailed off, he narrowed his eyes on the road. “I’d what?”
He’d be too busy? Or impatient? What?
Her tone was reluctant, but she said it. “You’d been through enough drama already. You’d spent enough time trying to help everyone around you. I didn’t want to be one more burden.”
Viv. This was about Viv.
And maybe Elizabeth wasn’t entirely wrong about his current stance on drama. He avoided it whenever and however he could, which meant no contact with his ex. No dating. No plans for another marriage. Nothing but work and occasional visits to the D.C. area so he could help his boys settle into their adult lives.
But there was drama, and there was need, and Elizabeth should know he could differentiate one from the other. “Helping a friend isn’t an imposition. I would have come with you to the mammogram. Gladly. You’re my friend, for God’s sake.”
“I asked you to come with me to the town hall.” She offered the reminder like a gift, something to pacify his obvious discontent. “I didn’t bother DMing anyone else.”
He could feel his chest puff out a tad. God, he was pitiful.
“Because you knew I’d say yes?”
“That.” With a faint rustle of clothing, she turned to him, and he could feel her gaze against the side of his face like the sun. “And you’d support me no matter what I said or did. You’re a rock in times of trouble.”
She knew about the failed rehab attempts near the end of his marriage. The way he’d tried to patch together his splintering relationship despite late-night phone calls from unfamiliar bars and police reports and texts from Viv’s boss wondering where she was.
He wouldn’t go back to any of that. But a few years of therapy had left him able and willing to handle everyday trouble. The grief and problems of normal life, not addicted life.
Pulling into his driveway, he hit the remote for the garage door. After positioning the truck inside the oversized berth, he turned off the engine.
Her fingers, now warm, were still laced through his.
“Then let me be your rock,” he told her.
“What…” Her broad forehead creased. “What does that mean?”
She needed a financial buffer. His wasn’t huge, not after divorce expenses and alimony and lingering rehab bills, but he had one, and he was more than happy to share it with his friend in distress.
She needed support through the biopsy process and—God forbid—any necessary follow-up treatment. He could provide that. He wanted to provide that.
And most urgently, she needed health insurance. He had that, and he could give it to her. Under one circumstance.
It was an extreme solution, out of character for them both. But how would he feel if he did nothing, and she suffered unnecessarily? If she—fuck, he didn’t want to consider it, but he had to—
What if she died when he could have helped?
How would that feel?
Could he stand by and watch her waste away because he refused to act?
No. Shit, no.
The steady, warm light of her goodness wasn’t getting extinguished on his watch. No fucking way.
“James?”
She was smiling uncertainly at him, despite her exhaustion and fear. Even under the harsh light of the garage door opener, her hair glowed like a halo. Her bloodshot blue eyes were deep and kind and so beautiful he almost wept.
And he finally understood.
That was why he hadn’t insisted on getting answers from her before. Why he hadn’t dug deeper and tried to get closer and discovered the heart of her.
First, he’d been with Viv. Then he’d needed to recover from the disastrous aftermath of his marriage. Either way, he’d chosen not to play with fire.
For him, Elizabeth was a flame.
If he’d insisted on answers, if he’d learned her inside and out, he’d known what would happen. On some level, he’d always known.
If he got too close, he’d care too much. She’d incinerate his marriage. She’d incinerate him.
But for the first time in almost three decades, he was ready to get burned.
He took a deep breath and met the gentle, confused eyes of his longtime friend.
“Elizabeth,” he said, “will you marry me?”
Four
Elizabeth argued for hours. Oh, how she argued.
Blinking away the prickle of tears—because how could she not cry at so much kindness?—she told him her circumstances didn’t require such a gallant gesture. She told him she’d find another way to pay for her medical expenses. She told him he’d meet