Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“It’s not even us. It’s the situation. It’s . . . No, I guess it is us.” He sighs, watching me closely. “We both need to face reality.”
I’m speechless. Even if I could form words, I couldn’t say them. I’m clobbered, completely blindsided, by this, and it’s all I can do to keep my head from spinning.
“This was a bad idea to start with,” he says. “I should’ve heeded my better judgment and saved us the trouble.”
A cord is snapped, and I’m a live wire.
“What do you mean you could’ve saved us the trouble?” I ask louder than necessary. “Is that what this has been to you? Trouble?”
How can this be happening? Oh, my goodness. What do I do?
My jaw hangs open, and every breath is audible. The air is hot, going in and out of my mouth rapidly.
“It doesn’t matter, Gabrielle.”
“The hell it doesn’t.”
He groans, exhaling. “Look, I’m not interested in getting involved in a situation that will only tear us apart.”
“Go on. Explain that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, explain how getting involved with me will tear us apart.” My nostrils flare. “You pushed for this. You came to my house and worked on my deck. You insisted on helping me with my project. You engaged with Dylan, and you humored Carter. And now you want to back out? What the fuck, Jay?”
He scrubs his hands down his face.
My disbelief turns to a hot, sharp fury. This isn’t right, and it isn’t fair. And if he thinks I will just be rejected into the night, he’s wrong.
“If we get involved any deeper than we are, I’m going to tear your family apart,” he says.
“So you’re pushing me out because my teenager is having a meltdown? Is that what this is?” I almost laugh. “I thought you were more of a man than that.”
“Dylan hates me, Gabrielle. Or he thinks he does. And you refuse to let me talk to him and try to help him, even though I have insight that could help him.”
“I—”
“And Carter is signing me up for father-and-son projects. I’m left wondering if I’ve overstepped my bounds somewhere and led him to believe I was trying to be his dad. Because I’ve been careful, so careful, Gabrielle, not to do that. For his good and mine.”
His jaw sets, and the mood between us shifts. I take a deep breath and try to focus—to calm down. Something I’ve been trying to do for hours. Why are men so fucking complicated?
I don’t want to be rational and listen to what he’s really saying, because a part of me doesn’t want to bother with someone who gives in so quickly. My life seems to be a constant struggle, a permanent battle with different enemies. If he doesn’t want to fight with me through this, there’s no hope for the future.
But as I think about who Jay is, he’s not a quitter. He held on with Melody for a long time for Izzy. He’s been patient and caring toward the boys, even when Dylan has been not so lovable. And he didn’t give up on me at the beginning, even when his fear told him to pull away. He didn’t. He followed his heart and kept coming around.
I’m fairly positive I’m in love with him. And I think this is more than him just backing away because he’s afraid he’s going to tear our family apart. That he feels like it’s too hard. It’s not rejection I’m seeing in his eyes.
Jay is terrified.
A part of our conversation the night after Murray’s runs through my head. “That’s why you’re scared of getting involved with me. Because I’m a single mom just like Melody.”
Fear swims in Jay’s eyes. The browns swirl with the golds, creating a beautiful but murky hazel hue that is as confusing as this situation. I only know that I hate seeing him like this. I hate seeing him scared—scared of me.
“They’re your kids, Gabrielle. You were right. I don’t belong in the nitty-gritty shit. It’s not my place.”
My voice from earlier echoes in my head. “Look, Jay. These are my kids. This is my problem. Not yours.”
I pass a swallow and step toward him. He stiffens, silently telling me to stop.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say softly, his fear eating away at my heartstrings. “I was upset and frustrated and angry and worried. All I wanted to do was to get to my kids and try to fix this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t.”
Oh, but I think I did. “You wanted to talk to me tomorrow night. What did you want to talk about?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
He paces to the other side of the living room. “We need to stop this.”
“This argument?” I ask, even though I know that’s not what he means. He means we need to stop this—us. “I’m happy to stop arguing with you.”