When You're Back(28)

“Talk, Aida. Stop crying, and talk to me.”

She sniffled, and I watched her wipe at her face. “What do you want me to say? Major said it all.”

Well, that clarified that. “What the hell, Aida? Seriously? How did this happen?”

She let out a shaky sigh. “You were . . . are my everything, Mase. You always have been. You’re there when I need someone. We have fun together. We laugh. We fit. I just don’t know why you can’t see that. She . . . she doesn’t fit you. I do. I know you so much better than she does.”

Motherfucker. How had I missed this? I felt so blindsided. “You’re my cousin. Hell, Aida, I saw you a couple times a year growing up. It wasn’t like we were inseparable. The way you talk about us sounds like we did everything together. I don’t see how you cooked all this up in your head. I’ve never once given you reason to think we have something or even had something. We hardly see each other.”

Aida sighed. “You don’t see it. We’ve always had a connection. I could feel it. I know you did, too. Reese messed this all up. You think you love her. You just don’t remember what we’ve had together.”

Yes, I loved Reese. I loved Reese like a man insane. She was my world. That wasn’t ever changing. “Aida, Reese is everything I never knew I needed but I can’t live without. Telling yourself that there is, or was, something between us is pointless. You’ve always been jealous of others getting my attention. I knew that. But we were kids, and you were demanding. I overlooked it or ignored it. But this can’t be ignored. Reese is the most important person in my life.”

Aida let out another sob. “Why can’t that be me? What does she have that I don’t have? How can I be her? How do I win your love?”

Holy hell. “You can’t. It doesn’t work that way. You can’t be like her and win my love. Reese is my one. You will find a guy one day who will be that for you, and no one will ever compare.”

“I don’t want anyone else. I never have,” she said in a sad voice.

“I’m trying to be understanding here, but you’re making it hard. I don’t get it. This isn’t healthy, Aida. You’ve got to see that.”

She began crying softly again, and I just drove. She had to see the truth here and deal with it. The lights of Fort Worth appeared in the distance. I hoped a coffee shop was open, because I needed something to get me through this.

“What if she isn’t your forever? What if one day she leaves? Or you fall out of love with her? You don’t know the future. No one does. People break up, and they even get divorced. What about when you don’t love her anymore?”

None of that was happening, and hearing her even mention it pissed me off. “Not me. That isn’t me. I don’t give up. I’d never give up on her.”

Aida laid her head back on the seat and let out a frustrated groan. “You’re so stubborn.”

I almost laughed. She was calling me stubborn. Seriously? “This has got to end, Aida. I’m not kidding. Reese is mine. She’s my happiness. My reason for waking up in the morning. She is every smile on my face. That’s it. Nothing will change that.”

Aida closed her eyes as I pulled into a Starbucks drive-through. A beer would be better, but I had to drive, so a black coffee was going to have to suffice. “You want anything?” I asked her.

“No,” she said sulkily.

I ordered mine, and we sat there in silence. Once I had my drink I turned back toward the ranch.

“She’ll leave you one day, and I’ll be gone. You’ll regret this. I swear you will,” Aida said, looking out the window.

The only thing I would regret was that I had missed all the signs and let it get this far gone. Aida needed to go home. Her visit was over. I hoped it would be years before her next one.


When I finally got home after dropping Aida back at my parents’ house, I’d been gone for more than two hours. Aida had wanted to talk more, and I had listened, but I didn’t feel like I had made any progress with her. She was still warning me that I was messing up. I was beginning to think my cousin was mentally unbalanced.

As I opened the door, the smell of garlic and butter met my nose. Walking into the kitchen, I could see spaghetti simmering in a pot of boiling water on the stove. Toasted French bread rubbed with garlic and butter sat beside it.

But Reese wasn’t there.

I headed for the bedroom, and just as I reached the door, I heard her voice. I stopped and realized she was reading. Alone. Without me.

She had worked her first day at a new job, and I’d left her here. Instead of pouting like most women would, she had cooked dinner and was now going on with her night. My gut knotted up. I felt like an ass. I should have been here with her. I should have cooked for her. And I should be there holding her while she read. That was our thing.