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He smirked again. “Who are you really mad at? Who do you see when you disappear? It’s not me. I don’t think it’s Triss. Are you mad at your wife?”
“I’ll use your face to break this bottle if you mention her again.”
“It’s just yourself then, isn’t it? And that’s why you don’t know how to handle it,” he said. “It’s not Trista’s fault. No part of this is. That’s what you need to be thinking about right now. She isn’t your wife. She never will be. And if you’re thinking you’ll find a way to turn Trista into some version of her to give yourself a chance to make up for what’s happened, you probably need to let her go now so she can start letting go of whatever she thought this was. That’s no way to expect her to live.”
I pushed the bottle into his chest while I walked around him to Seph.
“Don’t let me see you again tonight,” I warned while I got into the car.
“Does this make us friends now?” He asked, and laughed.
“No.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
trista
I didn’t remember falling back asleep, but Persephone’s exhaust was the thing that woke me up again the next morning. I was up off that couch like it was on fire and headed into the kitchen, assuming that was where Jersey would be in a few minutes. Memphis, Indy, and Utah were all sitting at the island together already, but nobody spoke while we all just waited for the door to open. Memphis chuckled when we all watched Jersey walk by the window, headed toward the front porch of the house.
“Should’ve seen that coming,” she said. “He knows we’re all in here.”
I was headed for the door myself a second later.
“Triss, maybe you shouldn’t —,” Memphis started to say.
“I‘ll go,” Utah interrupted.
I was outside and on my way to the front of the house before I’d realized that Utah was following me and that Memphis’ concern was actually me being alone with Jersey again.
Jersey was leaning back against the porch railing with his arms crossed over his chest by the time I made it around the front of the house, very much just waiting for me. I felt like I might throw up everywhere when he looked my entire body up and down. I was still only wearing Utah’s T-shirt. And to make that even worse, Utah popped up right behind me a second later. Jersey scoffed and hung his head back like it was taking everything in his power to just stay right where he was. I glanced back at Utah, and I felt better when he nodded at me. I went the rest of the way to Jersey while Utah jumped up to sit on the rail on the opposite end of the porch. Jersey was still glaring at Utah by the time that I was standing in front of him.
“I tried to tell you it was a bad idea,” he said quietly once he finally did look back at me.
I was going to murder him.
“That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me?” I asked. “I told you so, Fancy Face,” I hissed at him. His whole body snapped upright at the tone that I’d used, and Utah jumped right back down off his perch on the railing.
“Don’t you fucking dare come even a step closer, child,” Jersey said and pointed at Utah. “She’s fine.”
I reached out and smacked his hand down. “He didn’t do anything, J.”
Jersey looked from where I’d smacked his hand back to my face, like he couldn’t believe what I’d just done.
Which was fair, because I really couldn’t believe it either.
“Feeling powerful now that you’ve got a body-bitch following you around, Triss?” He asked and glared back at Utah.
“This isn’t about him.”
“Trista,” he started again, surprisingly softer that time. “I really did try to tell you. I already knew I couldn’t be trusted with you. What I mean to say is —.”
“What you mean to say is you’re sorry, Jersey,” I interrupted, completely baffled that such a thing hadn’t somehow been the first thought he had. He sighed and put his fingers under my chin to raise it so he could look at my neck. He moved like lightning to get his arms around my shoulders and squeezed me against him.
“I am sorry,” he whispered against my head. “So fucking sorry. I just don’t know how to —. How am I supposed to explain it? You didn’t live it. You weren’t there. You wouldn’t understand. How could you know what this is like?”
“I’d at least have a chance to understand if you’d just tell me how it feels,” I said and tried desperately to swallow the sobs. He squeezed me even harder.
“How it feels,” he repeated and chuckled. “It feels like having to feel everything all at the same time. Something that I thought I buried, something that I thought I left behind was just ripped right open. I spent so much time hating her. I spent so much time mad at her. Just to find out that it was more my fault than I’d ever even known. I always blamed myself for leaving, for keeping the job that made things difficult for her. But now —.”
