Page 64 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)

“Do you ever feel like you just don’t belong anywhere?

” I look at my purse and drag it open with shaking hands.

I’m so hungry that even a stick of gum would be an improvement to my current state.

“My parents didn’t want me. Neither of them.

My foster families didn’t want me. My college degree hardly wanted me, and even when I got it, I didn’t use it. ”

He nods, listening without interrupting. Processing without intervening.

“My best friend left. And it’s not that she doesn’t want me, but she wants her husband and family more.

Which, of course, is entirely appropriate.

” No gum. Not even a breath mint. Frustrated, I settle back in my seat and fold my arms. “I’ve lived in New York my entire life, but I have no real friends.

I have colleagues. And I have neighbors who are nice.

But I should have more, right? I’m almost thirty years old, so I should have more to show for nearly three decades of existing. ”

“You haven’t found your place yet.” Calm and entirely too comforting, he drives us out of the airport and onto regular New York roads, where everyone is kind of crazy and drivers are erratic.

Yet, he keeps our progress smooth. Our stops and starts, unhurried.

“You’re still young. It’s okay that you’re still looking. ”

“But I’ve looked all over the world! I’ve prioritized plane tickets over groceries more times than I can count. Nowhere wants me.”

“Could be because you’re looking for a place, when maybe you should be looking for a person.”

“My best friend would disagree.” I lay my head back and close my eyes. “And if she heard your theory about finding a person, she’d smack me with a newspaper. Then she’d probably smack you, too.”

He chuckles, his chest and belly bouncing with the sound. “I meant, you . You haven’t found you, yet. ”

“Oh! Well.” I open my eyes and meet his in the mirror. “Yeah. She agrees with that. She said I have to figure out what it is I want.”

“And you’re struggling because you’ve never belonged, and no one wanted you.

” He merges lanes and slides us between a bus and another cab.

“How can you possibly know what you want, if you don’t even know who you are?

Your family bailed, so you have no foundation to work with. You have nothing to grow from.”

“You’re good at this.” Smiling for the first time since standing on the dance floor at Alana and Tommy’s wedding, I exhale a cathartic snicker. “You get a psych degree before taxi school?”

“No. But I meet all sorts of people every single day. I’ve developed somewhat of a hobby of trying to understand them in our limited time together.”

“Can you understand me? And when you do, tell me what I should do.” I chew on my lip and stare out at the partial darkness outside.

The sun is down, but this is New York, after all.

“I’m honestly so, so tired,” I breathe, swallowing my shaky breath before it betrays me.

“It’s like the universe wants me to solve a ridiculous riddle.

But I can’t read the words. I can’t even see the words. ”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think you want to do? Or what you think should happen?”

“But what I want, and what I think should happen, are two different things.” I bring my hand up and trap my pinky nail between my teeth. “I want to turn around and run back to the crappy little town I just escaped because I left something kind of important behind.”

His eyes swing to mine in the mirror. “Luggage?”

“My soul. My family. The ones I choose. I left my best friend behind, though technically, she was the one who left me first. I left this little boy behind, who is basically my nephew, but not really. But I love him like I would love my own son if I had one. I left my niece behind. She’s only a month old and was named after me. And I left these two guys behind.”

“Two?” His cheeks warm, his blush stretching from his face to his neck. “Seems we’ve found the root of your confusion.”

“They’re twin brothers,” I snicker. “Identical. One of them married my best friend, and the other…” Owns me.

“As na?ve as it sounds, there’s a part of me hoping he snuck across the country while I wasn’t watching and is waiting for me at my apartment.

Like, that’s his grand gesture of love, ya know? ”

“You don’t think he’ll deliver this grand gesture you want so badly? ”

“No. Because I was the one who left. I told him we were just friends , and then I accepted a new job in Rome.”

He hisses, shaking his head gently to the side. “I see. That’s a little messy.”

“Right. Because I’m messy. So, while I’m over here foolishly hoping to be proven wrong, I’m not counting on it. Because even without the friend stuff, and even without Rome hanging over our heads, that’s just not who he is.”

“So, you know who he is? But you don’t know who you are?”

“He’s… quiet,” I sigh. “Humble. He’s caring and brave.

He would choose a night in, instead of a nightclub, any day.

A meaningful conversation and dinner on his porch, over pretense and restaurants and sharing a dining room with two hundred other people.

He hates crowds, but his brother has a job that kinda flies in the face of that, so he tolerates them when he must. He hates sharing his family—he especially hated the idea of sharing them with me—but when it mattered, he welcomed me in and made my existence in that town better . ”

“So, he has preferences , but he’s willing to step outside them for the people he loves.” He flashes a charming smile and meets my eyes. “It’s entirely possible he’s waiting for you at your apartment.”

I breathe out a soft laugh and try not to let that tiny sliver of hope get too large. The higher I fly, the harder I’ll fall… “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Because your family left you.” He nods.

“They didn’t love you the way you deserved, which probably means, in your mind, you’re not worthy of more.

You think this guy isn’t willing to step away from his preferences to make you happy.

Worse, you think his refusal to do so means he never loved you at all. ”

“Breaking my own heart every time I think it.” I hate that my hand shakes.

That my stomach turns. I hate that I bounce my knee to work through excess energy, though God knows, I have none to spare.

“So that’s what I’m doing; spiraling between I want him to be there for me and acknowledging that he probably won’t be.

And honestly, I have no one to blame but myself. ”

“Because of the just friends thing,” he guesses. “And Rome.”

Mmhmm.

“Self-sabotage. You’ve got yourself in a loop, and you don’t know how to get out.”

“That’s me.” I drop my head back again and close my eyes, because my hunger is making me nauseous, and driving in New York traffic, even with Mr. Smooth at the wheel, is pushing me closer to puking.

“I’ve been sabotaging myself since inception, I think.

Pissing people off and forcing them to leave, all so I can say see!

That’s what they do. I’ve been working a job that literally no one else in the world would hire me for, so if I resign or get fired, I become entirely un-hirable, with a college degree that cost a bunch and no experience to show for it. ”

“You hurt yourself in the quest for…” He pauses for a long beat. “Sheesh. I don’t even know. Hurt yourself now, so later, the hurt doesn’t catch you by surprise?”

“I’m a mental case,” I groan. “I stub my toe in any town or city, and I declare it a bad fit . I described myself as a bad organ transplant, and that town I just escaped, was the body. They don’t want me, and God knows I hate feeling unwelcome, so I run away and hide.”

“But by your own admission, you’ve traveled extensively.”

“Yes.”

“Which means you’ve looked behind all the curtains, you’ve met all the people. You’ve explored the world. But stubbing your toe sometimes means you’ve thrown your hands up and declared that you belong nowhere.”

I’m ridiculous, I know . “Correct.”

“Can I tell you a story?” He turns at the next corner, and when I feel the warmth of his gaze, I open my eyes and find him waiting for me in the mirror. “If you don’t mind?”

“Sure.” I flick my wrist in his direction. Go ahead . “I’d rather hear about your life than obsess over my own. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“I was hoping you would say so.” He slows and turns another corner, before speeding up again.

“I met the love of my life when we were just fourteen years old. It was a different time,” he murmurs.

“A very long time ago, when such things were not improper. I was born not so long after soldiers returned from the war when men were… Well… They were not always coping. My parents’ marriage withstood the war, and when my father came back, he and my mother made their children and did okay in the shifting economy.

Maggie—the woman who would eventually become my wife—and I were born in the same hospital within days of each other, and we lived on the same block our entire childhoods.

Her mother and mine met, and as women do, they brought their children together. From that day forward, I was?—”

“In love?”

He laughs, loud and jolly, like Santa himself. “Goodness, no. I was annoyed. That girl did everything she could to irritate me. ”

“Oh…” I snort and enjoy the feel of it in my throat. “Not quite where I expected you to take this story. You said she was the love of your life.”

“And she was. But she made sure I would never enjoy a moment of peace. If I said I preferred not to eat spaghetti for dinner, that woman made it more often. If I said I wanted petunias in the garden, she planted daisies.”

“Doesn’t sound like she liked you very much.”