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He almost chokes on his drink. “Look what good that was doing.” His eyes meet mine as he grabs my hip, pulling me closer. “These animals have been getting away with this for too long.”
These?
He doesn’t have to say it.
My father.
I set the ice back down and lean my hip against the table. When Jake blows out a long breath and scrubs a frustrated hand across his face, I know it’s something he doesn’t want to talk about. He closes his eyes so tight I think he’s trying to smother the pain seeping from his veins. I can’t begin to imagine the memories tonight conjured up, and I have no idea how to comfort him or what to say to make this better.
I just want to make it better.
But somewhere inside, the memories build and creep out of the shadows.
His fist comes down hard on the table, making the glasses vibrate. He stretches his long fingers flat against the surface. I hold back a gasp when his other hand clutches at my hip again, and his palm sprawls out against the skin beneath my sweater. When his head falls against my stomach, and I feel his heavy breaths against my skin, I cup my hand over my mouth to stop the sob wanting to escape.
Oh, Jake.
I don’t know what to say.
Why don’t I know what to fucking say?
But I don’t think anything I say will ease the pain because his agony is so raw, he’s practically radiating it. Every day, he hides it, but when it surfaces, it cripples him.
He’s sinking. I can sense it. If he is going down, I’m clinging on and going with him. But truth is, the first time I found myself in his arms, I was drowning in him anyway.
“Claire,” he rasps, his voice thick with emotion as he clutches me tighter like he’ll never want to let go.
Still not finding the right words to soothe the cracks in his interior, I rest my hand against his shoulder and fist my fingers in his hair, repeating the only thing that brought him some comfort earlier. “I’m okay. I’m still here.”
“You’re safe.” He rocks his head against my stomach.
Tonight wasn’t entirely about me. There’s so much more. But his focus, right now, is on me. I wasn’t in harm’s way. I don’t know if I ever was.
This feels deeper.
There’s more.
But I don’t press him on it.
My questions can wait until the morning.
Right now, he’s safe. He’s all that matters.
I take a step back as he stands and wraps his hand around the back of my neck.
“Don’t leave tomorrow.”
I don’t want to have this conversation now. It’s not the time.
“We agreed,” I remind him.
“Not tomorrow. We’ll talk, but don’t leave,” he pleads, setting my skin on fire with a simple brush of his lips against mine.
Pulling away, his eyes cast to the pictures again.
He’s torn.
It’s like Rose said: he’ll fight the past with wanting a future.
