I nodded. “Five times. It just went to voicemail. Any more and I’ll look like a crazy man. It’s now up to him.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I know how much you liked him.”

Liked him? I think it had well exceeded that. I didn’t admit that though. Not out loud. I just nodded and went back to work, hoping to get lost in codes and data files. Until my phone rang and Jordan’s name flashed on the screen.

I fumbled with my phone, almost dropped it, then almost hit the ignore button by mistake.

“Jordan?”

“No, it’s Merry.”

My heart sank like a stone, then panic set in. “Oh my God, is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Well, not really. He’s a freaking mess.”

The ache in my chest burned. “Oh.”

“God, Hennessy, what happened last night?”

“He freaked out. He shot off the couch and bolted. I don’t know what happened.”

“Oh dear.”

“Oh dear, what? What does that mean?”

She sighed. “You care for him, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. I do. He’s… everything I could ever want. And I have no idea how to fix this. He won’t even speak to me.”

She was silent a moment. “And he’ll kill me if he finds out I’m talking to you. You have the ace support group meeting tonight, yes?”

Oh fuck. I’d forgotten about that. And it was supposed to be at the library. Where Jordan worked. Fuck! I rubbed my temples trying to stave off the headache that threatened to split my skull. “Yes.”

“Good. So here’s what’s going to happen.”

Chapter Fifteen

Jordan

As I was getting my coat and scarf, Merry handed me back my phone and gave me a hug. “Call me if you want to talk,” she said, her hands on my shoulders.

I nodded sadly, dreading catching this bus. I even considered waiting for the next one, or even walking home, but I knew I had to be an adult about this. I’d told Hennessy I’d talk to him today, and even though it was a conversation I didn’t want to have, it wasn’t fair on him to put it off.

But he wasn’t on the bus.

And that was so, so much worse.

I fell into a seat and clutched at my messenger bag on my lap, mentally telling my heart not to squeeze so damn tight.

A hand patted my shoulder. “No Mr Hennessy today,” Mrs Petrovski said. I couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.

“Uh, no. I um… I don’t…”

Don’t cry, Jordan. Don’t cry.

Just make up some random bullshit story about how he was really an art insurance broker who was caught up in some multi-million dollar heist with international thieves and how it read like Oceans Eleven meets Thomas Crown and, and… and… motherfucking fuck.