In case he’s confused.

“I would beg to differ,” he says stiffly. “Since she is my girlfriend.”

WAS!

I want to stand over him and shout the past tense.

I want to tell him I had her first and I’ve had her since, and he was just the dash between. An ellipsis that should never have happened.

While we stare at one another, I don’t think of his illness, or his mortality, or how pissed off Banner will be if I upset him. I only see a threat, an obstacle between me and what I want most.

“I know it was you, the one she betrayed me with.“ Even shrunken there is command in his voice, in the look he gives me. “You can’t have her.”

“I already have her,” I answer simply, not even bothering to deny my role in their break up.

Rage sparks in his tired eyes. “Fucking her once doesn’t make her yours.”

Once?

What about a dozen times? A dozen ways?

On every surface? In every corner?

Eating her pussy until she weeps?

What will it take, Zo, for you to accept that she’s mine? Just tell me. I’ve probably already done it.

Would you like to taste her on my fingers right now?

I want to say it all, but remain silent. It feels wrong sitting here discussing her with him. I don’t want to be in his house, and I don’t want Banner here either. At least one of us can go.

“Tell Banner I had to leave.” I stand and head for the door. “I don’t think it’s the right time for this conversation.”

“When should we have it?” he asks. “After I’m dead? Is that what you’re hoping for? Biding your time, are you?”

I study his sunken eyes and his diminished frame. It sparks a memory, an unwanted one that I don’t often revisit. My mother in bed, choosing to die at home with “her boys.” With my father and me. I see her dragging herself to sit up against the pillows and checking my homework with her bird-like fingers and her scarf-wrapped head and her bloodless lips. That damn helplessness I always feel overtakes me for a nanosecond. Helpless then because I couldn’t stop what was happening, and helpless now because nothing I do will ever be enough to bring her back. And I wonder if Zo feels helpless. He said he’s in the fight of his life, and I see it. That battle-weary look, fighting off death itself, that’s how my mother looked.

“No. I hope you beat this thing,” I finally answer him, shrugging casually, my throat burning. He wouldn’t appreciate my pity, so I say what I would want to hear. “We should make it . . . what did you call it? A fair fight?”

He laughs, a deep, vibrant sound that seems too big for his emaciated body.

“It drives you mad that I convinced her not to be with you, doesn’t it? That she chose me over you. You’re worried she’ll choose me when it comes down to it, and you’re right to worry because she will.”

It comes rushing back, my resentment and anger. I grab it with eager hands, badly needing to feel something other than the old grief gripping my heart.

“I never would have pegged you as a man to exploit your sickness that way.”

He sobers, his eyes going dull again.

“You think you are the only one who will do anything to keep her?”

He stands slowly, as if each inch off the couch pains him. I stop myself from reaching down to help. The proud set of his bony shoulders tells me his rival’s assistance wouldn’t be appreciated. I can’t blame him. He follows me to the door and will probably be as glad to close it behind me as I will be to leave. I draw in a lungful of fresh air as soon as I’m on the porch.

“I would say may the best man win,” I say with him standing in the door, waiting to shut me out. “But we both know you’re a better man than I am, and I have no intention of losing her.”

“Neither did I. Things change quickly. You should remember that.” He glances back into the townhouse before looking back to me. “It would distress Banner to know I figured out it was you. What do you say we keep this between us?”

“How did you know?” I’m not making any promises about harboring a secret with him.

A wry grin quirks his mouth. “You came to the house that night with some trumped up excuse about a meeting.”

I frown, reviewing my actions. Every word I can remember from that visit and don’t recall anything that would have given away my feelings. Or my intentions.

“It was the way you looked at her,” he answers my unspoken question.

“How did I look at her?”

He slips the mask back over his face to keep the germs at bay, his answer is muffled but to me crystal clear.

“You looked at her the way I do.”

37

Banner

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Zo.”

I consider the crowded auditorium, packed wall to wall with the best and brightest of the sports world.

“Bannini, I’m fine.” He places my hand in the crook of his elbow. “Matter of fact, I feel better than I have in months.”

It’s probably true, but I don’t trust it. Zo finished his three months of chemo. Our things are on their way back to LA from Palo Alto, but we came ahead by a few days to attend the Copeez, an awards show sponsored by SportsCo, the largest sports channel, second only to ESPN. They’re honoring Zo tonight during the ceremony and have asked him to speak. He’ll receive the Jimmy V Perseverance Award at the ESPYs. He’s already attended two fundraising dinners since we came back. It’s a lot, and I just hope it’s not too much too soon.

“You worry too much.” Zo bends to kiss my hair. “Besides we will show these people that I’m still alive.”

“You don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

He shrugs philosophically.

“Maybe I prove it to myself.” He grins and runs appreciative eyes over me from head to toe, starting at my loose chignon, drifting over my tight dress, and ending on the expensive shoes that may kill me before this night is over. “If nothing else it’s a good excuse to show you off. We make a handsome couple, don’t you think?”

I don’t correct his use of the word “couple.” Everyone here, everyone in the world assumes we’re a couple, and we haven’t corrected their misconception. Too complicated and no one’s business but ours.

And Jared’s.

I glance around the large room, eyes peeled for any sign of him. We haven’t talked as much as I would have hoped the last month of our exile up at Stanford. When I came back down from my call with Maali, he was gone and Zo was there. He said Jared had gotten an urgent call and had to leave. I didn’t question it, and one of the few times I spoke with Jared after that, he confirmed that he was just pulled away by a client emergency. The two of them in a room together raised all my red flags. Something has felt different between Jared and me. I want to ask Zo if he and Jared talked at any length, if maybe he said something to him, but Jared is the last subject I want to discuss with Zo. Things are complicated enough.

“Do you see your family yet?” Zo asks, craning his neck to scan the crowd.

“No, but Mama called from the road to say they got stuck in traffic. A bad accident has lanes shut down, but they’re on the way.”

I glance at my watch and frown.

“They may miss your speech at this rate.”

We start toward our seats, and it takes forever because everyone wants to stop and talk to us, to ask Zo how he’s doing, tell him how good he looks, ask when he’ll be back on the court. I just want to shoo them all away. His immune system is still recovering, and I pray being around this many people so soon doesn’t make him sick.

I’m waiting for him to tactfully close a conversation with a journalist, who has been hounding us for an interview, when I spot Kenan coming from the direction of the greenroom. He probably walked the red carpet, which Zo and I opted not to do. Loathe to leave Zo alone with this pushy hack, I wave Kenan over.

His stern features and imposing physicality lead most to believe he’s a hard-ass. They’re not wrong on many counts, but his heart—so tender.

“How are you?” I reach up for a hug. “I feel like we haven’t talked all summer.”

“You handed me over to that junior agent,” he accuses with no heat. He was one of the clients I felt comfortable temporarily offloading. His contract is set for the next two years, and he intentionally pulled back from everything except the golf tournament to focus on the situation with his daughter and his ex-wife.

“How are things going with the custody battle?” I ask.

“Pretty good. Bridget has . . .”

Kenan stops mid-sentence, the intensity of his gaze fixed over my shoulder. I glance in that direction to see what has arrested his attention. It’s not a what, but a who. A beautiful woman stares back at him unblinkingly. She’s slim with skin like whipped cocoa. Her platinum blonde pixie cut and the bohemian flair to her formal dress distinguish her from everyone around her. She’s not famous as far as I can recall, but there is something almost hypnotic about her presence. I tear my eyes away and look back to Kenan who is still fixated on her. When I glance back over my shoulder, she has turned away and is talking to a little girl, who looks vaguely familiar.

“Who is that, Kenan?” I punch his shoulder when he still doesn’t answer. “Earth to Kenan. Who is that woman you were ogling?”

He narrows his eyes at me. Kenan isn’t an easy guy to tease, but he allows me to do it every once in a while. “What woman?”

“Really?” I ask, slanting him a disbelieving look. “The little fairy over there you couldn’t take your eyes off. Who is she?”

He stares at me a few more seconds, like he’s weighing if he’ll regret whatever he shares.

“Her name is Lotus,” he offers reluctantly.

“Well, she should either go out with you or file a restraining order.”

His deep-timbered chuckle has me smiling, too. The smile slowly melts from his handsome face.