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I’ve tried so hard to never disappoint anyone. But I’m starting to think allowing my parents’ stories to rule my choices has backfired. Do I really want to send Jen off on her merry way after our fake marriage ends? Or is that just something I tell myself I want?
Is being on my own freedom, or is it just a defense mechanism? A way of keeping Jen safe, in my mind at least, while walling myself off from the possibility of a more beautiful life together than either of us could have ever imagined?
But part of me wonders if I’m already beyond redemption. Tuck’s warning from last night makes an endless loop around my head. If he doesn’t have faith in me to change, who am I to think I can suddenly become monogamous?
Who am I to think I can make his sister happy?
“I still wanna fuckin’ kill you for telling Tuck,” I growl.
Riley swirls the coffee in his cup before finishing it. “There’s one way this doesn’t end with the total destruction of all our relationships. You know it, I know it. Jen knows it. Marry her.” He looks me in the eye. “Have the wedding. Ride off into the sunset. Make the babies and buy the minivan and just be fucking happy, Abel. That’s all there is to it. You’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be.”
The ache in my throat spreads to my temples. “I love how you well-adjusted folks just assume the rest of us can drop our baggage anytime we want.”
Riley puts his mug in top rack of the dishwasher. “Fine. Carry that baggage for the rest of your life and see where it gets you. There’s no prize at the end for the person who suffered most. There’s just the end. You decide how you wanna show up there.”
He leaves, closing the front door quietly behind him.
The house is silent. I miss the dogs’ happy chatter. Jen’ssmiles, her scent. The way her blonde hair turns to gold in the light of the kitchen windows.
I glance across the island. Was it really just yesterday that I asked her to get breakfast burritos? I don’t get how so much can change in the space of twenty-four hours.
I don’t get how I suddenlyhatehow quiet it is. Glancing at my phone, I see that Jen hasn’t checked in. I’m dying to call her. Text her at least, ask her if she’s okay. If I can join her, wherever she is, because I miss her. How is she feeling? She regret what we did last night? Is that why she ran out of bed this morning?
I tug my thumb and forefingers over my eyes. The sex was a mistake.
The sex was the best I’ve ever had.
My pulse skips a beat at the pitter-patter of tiny paws on my front steps. Rising, I watch Jen push open the door, the girls sprinting to greet me.
Her eyes are bloodshot.
“Aw, hey, y’all! I missed you.” I scoop the girls into my arms and let them go to town licking my face.
Jen laughs, setting their leashes on the hall table. “Girls, please be gentle. He’s injured.”
“I’ll be all right.”
She moves to the sink, washes her hands. “That bruise doesn’t look all right. You put ice on it yet this morning?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Seriously, Abel. It’s like you want your face to swell up like a balloon. Here.” She yanks open the freezer and hands me the frozen bottle of Don Julio. “I’ll set my timer for ten minutes.”
I don’t miss how easily she moves around my kitchen. Grabbing a towel from under the sink. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet beside the range.
Deep pleasure blooms inside my chest. She’s learning my house.
She’s at home here.
She’s also been upset. That much is obvious. The bloom in my chest is interrupted by a spasm of guilt.
“Let me pour you some coffee,” I say, but she’s already filling the mug.
“Thanks for making a pot.”
“My pleasure.”
Bringing the mug to her lips, she blows. The light of the windows catches on the steam rising off the coffee, which curls into a halo around Jen’s head.
