I go to my work desk and sit down, taking a deep breath. I’ve never sent her a text before because texting is the bane of my existence and I almost always end up misspelling something and then I feel stupid. But I don’t want to pester her with another call. And I don’t want to send her a voice message about this. I want it there, on her phone, in stark, readable letters. Like a contract. From me to her. I want her to be able to go back and look at it as many times as she needs.

I peck away at my phone. I’m sweating by the time it’s done. I go back and read each word independently, checking for any mistakes. Jessie. I don’t know exactly what is going on. But I take it you want space from me. I will never bother you. I won’t make things awkward for you around the building. But I will be here if you ever change your mind. Apartment 5D. You have my phone number. Please, if you ever want to talk, just call or stop by. My door is always open. Hopeful until then, Eliot. Figuring it’s all I can do, I send the text.

Chapter Nineteen

Jessie

I’m throwing one leg over my motorcycle, my palms on the handlebars, when I realize my hands are shaking.

He knows, he knows, he knows. The words are taunting me in the same rhythmic wuh-wump wuh-wump wuh-wump of my heartbeat.

I step back off my motorcycle and take two steps toward the building. I have to go back. I have to talk to him.

But no. I’m pacing back toward the bike. My first instinct was right. I have to talk to Jack first. It’s too soon for Eliot to know who I am. I can’t go to him, hat in hand, without being able to explain who my brother is. And I can’t explain who my brother is without first telling my brother I’m going to do that.

My first instinct was right. Get the hell away from Eliot and find Jack.

But I’m in no condition to weave my way through traffic on a motorcycle right now, so I jog three blocks down to the subway.

The trip to Queens takes a stupid amount of time, because apparently whoever designed New York City’s subway system assumed that anyone leaving Brooklyn could only possibly be wanting to head into Manhattan. It’s nearly impossible to go north from Brooklyn or south from Queens. But tonight I’m glad for the extra time, because it’s given me an hour to practice my speech in my head.

Jack, I need your help, I’ll say. There’s this man in the building who I think I’m going to try to date.

And then I’ll describe Eliot.