Freedom comes to you and asks, will you tell her?”
“No.” He reached out and lightly touched my arm. “I won’t share anything unless you specifically tell me to.”
“Good answer.” I smiled, pleasure and relief and something much sexier surging through me. “You can pick me up here at six.”
Five
Eoin
I’d honestly been prepared for Aline to tell me to fuck off. I hadn’t handled anything with her well from the moment we’d met. I hadn’t hurt her physically, and I had saved her life, but I’d fucked up the rest of it. Badly. But Israel had been right. Sort of. I didn’t think I loved her, but now I was starting to think that I could. Someday. Maybe even someday soon.
All I knew for sure was I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try. Not only because I needed to honor Leo and the other men who died by living life, but because I could see a future now. A real one.
A good one.
With her.
I’d make this work, starting with dinner. Which was harder than it sounded. I couldn’t just pick some random L.A. restaurant since I had no idea if the food would be shit, and the only one I knew of was where we’d had our first date. The place had been great, and we didn’t exactly have bad memories of the place, but I didn’t want to do anything that felt like going back over what we’d already done. We could go back there some other time, but tonight, we needed a fresh start. A real one.
Instead of asking Bruce for another suggestion, I did some web surfing and came up with The Mar Vista. Nice, but not the sort of place that had a tie and jacket requirement. Somewhere Aline wouldn’t mind coming to straight from work, but special enough for this to be an official date and not just two friends picking up fast food or takeout.
On the way to the restaurant, we talked about why she’d left her parents’ house, with her giving me the whole story and me telling her what Freedom had said to Cain and me. It wasn’t the sort of polite small talk that people usually had on early dates, but we’d agreed to stop using other people’s standards and expectations to tell us how we should act.
After we’d ordered our meals, she flipped the conversation around.
“Now you know what I’ve been doing since we last saw each other. What about you?”
Immediately, my mind went to Nana Naz, and then I realized that I could talk to Aline about what’d happened. I’d told her about Leo so I didn’t need to go through all of that, and she could be objective because she didn’t know Israel or Nana Naz.
“My friend,” I began, “the one who…we promised each other that we’d look after each other’s families if one of us made it back and the other didn’t. His grandma, Nana Naz, ended up in the hospital on Friday.”
“Oh no.”
The concern on Aline’s face warmed me without making me feel like she was pitying me.
“She’s okay,” I reassured her. “But it freaked Israel – Leo’s dad – out enough for him to call me. She got dizzy and then passed out, so he called 911. Her blood pressure dropped suddenly. Turns out she was dehydrated and had low blood sugar. She had to stay overnight for some tests, but she went back home yesterday afternoon. She has to monitor what she eats and how much water she drinks now, but she’ll be okay. Scared the shit out of me and Israel, though.”
“It’s terrifying when something like that happens to someone you’ve always thought of as invincible,” she said. “This past spring, my dad had a heart attack, and it came as a huge shock to Freedom and me. It’s one thing to know your dad’s in his early seventies, but it’s another to realize what that means in terms of health and mortality.”
“He’s okay now?”
She nodded. “He is, and Mom’s been watching him like a hawk. She hasn’t really said much to me about how worried she was, but she seems a lot more aware of the nine-year age difference between the two of them than she had before.”
The numbers caught up to me, and the surprise must’ve registered on my face because it prompted a question.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
“Just surprised at how much older your parents are than mine. Da doesn’t turn sixty until next August, and Mom’s five years younger than