Monique propped herself up on her elbow. “When did she tell you? About wanting to send you here?”
“New Year’s Eve, when I was at the airport.” He ghosted his hand down from her shoulder, where her port wound was still pink, healing. Eventually, his hand traveled down her side and rested at her hip. He drew circles on her creamy, dark-brown flesh there. “I was trying to be all heroic and catch up to you, but I missed you by about eleven minutes. So, I figured out how to exchange my ticket to Newark for one to Chicago.”
“You didn’t?”
“Of course I did. Paid almost five hundred dollars to follow you.”
Monique looked shocked, and he laughed.
“Deb called while I was waiting, and I asked because I knew it upset you. She told me then. Told me some things about my mother too.”
Monique went still. “Your mother?”
“I think I told you when we first met, about how she’d work for Fairbanks off and on. And Deb said she felt responsible for me. When I went away, she kept trying to help my mom. Said she felt guilty, like she didn’t do enough.” His voice grew rough. “I always thought she was a nice lady with a nice family. Me and Tommie meeting was actually a fluke. Deb knew me first. When she learned I was ineligible for parole, she worked harder to get this program off the ground to help guys like me learn skills to build a life outside.”
He was quiet for a moment, just breathing. “I thought I’d earn my way in. Come to find out, I’m the reason there’s a door.”
Hearing this made the fragments of her understanding start to take shape. Guilt pinched at her chest, just a little. “Understanding that, does it change anything?” Monique asked.
Maurice thought for a breath and shook his head. “I don’t think so. But it changes how I understand what I owe.”
Monique stroked his face. “She loves you.”
He nodded. “She does. And she loves you too. She said Tommy and Lanie’s wedding was the match they needed to light a fire under us.”
“They manipulated us,” Monique said. “But they also believed in us. Believed we deserved this.”
“You forgive them?”
“I do.” She kissed him softly. “But don’t tell them yet. Let them sweat a little longer.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
She settled back against him. “So, Avery is handling administration?”
“Yeah. He’s already on the ground in Chicago—securing the building, working partnerships. I’d be doing field work. Working directly with the guys coming out, teaching skills, connecting them with resources.” He paused. “Same work I do now. Just here. With you.”
“With me,” she repeated, testing the words. “In my house that needs fixing.”
“Which I noticed.”
“With my kids who scheme with my aunts.”
“Who I like very much.”
“With my cancer that could come back.”
“Which we’ll face together if it does.”
She turned to look at him, this man who’d bought a last-minute ticket to follow her home. Who’d fixed her furnace and won over her children and showed up at a shiva because she shouldn’t have to grieve alone.
“Mo?”
“Hmm?” He turned to look at her.
“I love you.”
He went still. “Say that again.”