"I'm not. I'm just...working."
"Cain said something to me last night that...that made me wonder if maybe I've misinterpreted our relationship."
Oh, no..."Cain came back into your life a few months ago after being out of it for twelve years, and now he's a specialist on our friendship?"
"That's just it. He says it doesn't sound like friendship. It sounds as if--" her voice dropped, letting him know she was embarrassed to be so bold, but equally determined to forge ahead "--well, he says you must be in love with me."
Jonathan's breath whooshed out as though she'd slugged him. After all the years he'd hidden his feelings, here it was, the moment of truth.
He wanted to deny it. But he was pretty sure she'd see his lie for what it was. Skye knew how he felt and might've mentioned it to her, as well. All of that, together with his recent behavior, meant there was very little chance she'd believe him even if he did lie.
"That isn't true, is it?" she asked tentatively.
"How I feel doesn't matter, Sheridan. You're in love with someone else."
"That's not a denial."
He laughed incredulously. "You were expecting one?"
This time, the pause lasted much longer. "No, I guess not," she said at length.
The shower went on, making him feel more comfortable about speaking freely. "So why are you calling? To hear me say it?"
"To figure out what the hell has suddenly come between us and to find some way to fix it."
"There is no way to fix it." If Cain hadn't come between them, it would've been someone else, he thought. But he didn't really believe it. He knew Cain was the only man who could give him any competition where Sheridan was concerned. She'd been in love with Cain for years, since she was sixteen. He'd remained in Tennessee when she'd moved on. Jonathan had never dreamed they'd get together. He'd always assumed Sheridan would eventually be his wife.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked.
He'd been waiting for her to get over the boy who'd broken her heart at sixteen. But that boy was now a man, and when she returned to Whiterock the encounter had been very different than before. "Would it have made a difference?"
"I don't know."
"Not when it comes to Cain."
"Probably not," she admitted. "I've been in love with him almost my whole life."
"Exactly. I gotta go."
"Will you talk to me?" she said.
"About what? This is a waste of time. You're married. There's nowhere to go from here."
"Just because I'm not in love with you doesn't mean I don't love you, Jon. You're one of my best friends!"
She was crying; he could hear it in her voice. But he couldn't change how he felt or what it meant for their relationship.
"Don't cry, Sher. You've got Cain. Isn't one man enough?"
"Does loving him mean I have to lose you?"
"Don't you get it?" he said. "We can't be friends. We'll be lucky if we can continue to function as work associates. Knowing how I feel about you, Cain won't want us together all day."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that sometimes you can't have it all."
He'd disconnected and was massaging his temples, trying to digest what'd just happened, when a noise caught his attention.
Zoe was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, her long legs bare beneath his oversize T-shirt. The fact that she wasn't wearing a bra and her hair was mussed from their lovemaking meant she'd turned the water on but hadn't yet taken her shower. And the look on her face said she'd heard more than enough to understand what was going on. "You don't think I can give you what you need?" she said, mocking his complaint from last night.
He winced at the disappointment in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, but it didn't help. He felt about two inches tall as she turned and walked back to the bathroom. A second later, the door closed behind her--and the lock clicked.
Zoe couldn't get anything right. And, apparently, that wasn't about to change just because she'd lost her daughter--even though that was enough to go wrong in anyone's life. Earlier this morning, she'd slept with a man she'd known only a week. And she'd let it mean something to her. How stupid could she be? Hadn't the past taught her anything?
At least she'd found out early this time, before she'd wasted the next few weeks or months hoping for a commitment that wasn't going to come.
"You haven't said a word since you got out of the shower." Jonathan sat across from her at a little sidewalk cafe on L Street, where they'd stopped for breakfast before going to the hospital. "What're you thinking?"
Zoe considered him through the dark lenses of her sunglasses and had to concede that physically he appealed to her as much as any man she'd ever met. Maybe that hadn't changed since his telephone conversation with Sheridan, but everything else had. "That I'm an idiot to have fallen for your
'I'm looking for more' speech. Why didn't you just say you needed a quick lay?"
He blanched. "I wasn't using you, Zoe. I'm attracted to you."
"Well, thanks for that," she said with a laugh.
"Listen, I made a mistake last night, and I'm willing to admit it. I shouldn't have touched you. It was insensitive and unprofessional. Besides, neither of us was in the best state of mind. But...that doesn't mean I don't care about you."
"Oh, please." She took a sip of her latte. "You don't have to care about me. Because you were right. I don't care about you or anyone else. Just Sam.
All I want is my daughter back safe. I'd sleep with anyone in the world if it would give me that."
When a muscle flexed in his cheek, she knew she'd hit her target. She regretted the harshness of her response. But not enough to lower her guard again. Just when she thought she could be indifferent to any man, Jonathan had managed to hurt her, and she was the stupid one who'd let it happen.
"You're saying it meant nothing to you," he said.
Grateful for her sunglasses, she lifted her chin. "Less than nothing."
His lips, the lips that'd kissed her in so many places last night, formed a hard straight line. "Then we were equally at fault."
"I'll accept that." She tossed her cup in the garbage. "Let's go to the hospital."
"Zoe--" His voice had softened, telling her that what he had to say was probably conciliatory, but she was more afraid of "nice" than she was of
"indifferent" or even "mean." Nice was harder to defend herself against.