"Fine." He touches it gingerly. "I've had worse."
We sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment. This isn't like us—we've never struggled for words before. My stomach churns with anxiety.
"Jenna, I—" He stops, runs a hand through his hair. "I need to apologize."
"For what?"
"All of this. The drama, the chaos I've brought into your life." His voice is quiet, almost defeated. "If it weren't for me, you'd still have your simple, uncomplicated life. Your marriage might not be perfect, but at least it was stable."
The words hit me like a slap. "Is that what you think I want? My old life back?"
He finally looks at me, and I see uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Don't you?"
"No." The word comes out fiercer than I intended. "I don't want simple and uncomplicated anymore, Caine. I want you."
Something shifts in his expression then. The tension that had been pulling at the corners of his mouth begins to ease, and his shoulders drop slightly.
There's something else there too—something deeper and more complex that I can't quite identify. His beautiful eyes, which had seemed so guarded and uncertain moments before, now hold a flicker of what might be hope, or perhaps gratitude, mixed with an emotion that makes my chest tighten with anticipation.
“What are we doing here?" I press, my heart hammering. "What did you want to discuss?"
The fear claws at my chest like a living thing, making it hard to breathe. Every second of his hesitation feels like an eternity, and I can feel my world threatening to crumble around me. I'm deadly afraid that he wants to end this—that after everything we've been through, he's had enough of all this drama.
The violence at the pool hall, Reeves’s escalating anger, the constant threat hanging over our heads like a storm cloud—maybe it's finally broken him. Maybe he's sitting there calculating the cost of loving me and has decided it's too high a price to pay.
My hands tremble slightly as I reach for my mug, needing something to occupy them before he notices. The rational part of my brain knows he's not the type to run from a fight, but the terrified part of me—the part that's been abandoned before, the part that learned early that love doesn't always stay—whispers that maybe he fears for his safety now.
Maybe seeing Reeves’s rage up close, feeling the very real possibility of physical harm, has made him realize that I'm not worth it. That no woman is worth risking everything he's built, everything he's worked for.
The thought makes me feel sick, hollow, like someone has scooped out my insides and left me empty.
He takes a sip of his coffee, wincing slightly when ithits his injured lip. The hesitation in his movements makes my anxiety spike.
"You're scaring me," I admit. "You look like you're about to break up with me."
"Break up with you?" He sets down his cup, staring at me. "Jenna, that's the last thing—"
"Then what is it? Why do you seem so... distant?"
He leans forward, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Because the last thing I want to do is hurt you, Jenna."
"I hired a private investigator,” he explains.
The words hit me like ice water. I blink at him, certain I've misheard.
"You what?"
"A few weeks ago. I needed to understand what I was dealing with, what kind of man Reeves really is." His fingers drum against the table. "I'm sorry, Jenna. I know it sounds invasive, but—"
"It is invasive." My voice comes out sharper than I intend. "What gave you the right?"
"The gambling debt has reached over sixty thousand dollars in the past two years alone."
The number slams into me, stealing my breath. Sixty thousand. I grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
"That's impossible. He promised me he'd stopped. He swore to me—"
"There's more."
