Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“You did what you had to do,” she tells me, but there’s no way she can convince me that it’s justified.
“I don’t care what you think or where we came from,” she says. “John, Jay, it’s just a name. I love you. I’ve loved you for years. All I need to know is whether or not you love me.”
Of course I do. She’s the only one I’ve ever loved. I don’t even know if it’s possible to love someone else like I love her. She rests her hand against my cheek and my eyes drift to hers. “Do you love me?” she asks me in a whisper of a breath. The fear and insecurity apparent.
I tell her the truth. What I know to be more real than anything else. “I’ve always loved you, Robin. When I was jealous, when I hated what you represented, when I feared what you could do to me and what power you held over me.” A sob rips from her throat and she covers her mouth with both of her hands as tears leak down her cheeks. I brush them away and put my hand on the nape of her neck, gently but firmly, just how she is with me. With a small push, she falls closer to me and I rest my forehead against hers and lower my hand to her back to rub soothing strokes up and down. “I’ve always loved you, Robin. And I always will.”
Chapter 31
Robin
Two weeks have gone by, and sometimes John forgets. It’s remarkable that he was able to live a relatively normal life before. But I don’t want him to have anything but a full life from this day onward.
I’ll never leave him again. And he knows better than to pull that shit again.
The paper crinkles in my hand as I set it back down and then carefully fold it to put it back in the envelope. It’s the report on John’s mother’s death. Margaret. He wanted to know, and I’m doing everything I can to find out every little piece of his history. An overdose.
The memories he has of his mother are pleasant, but the detailed history of her past isn’t. I don’t know how he’ll take it, but it’s one more piece of information he can digest.
I hear the tea kettle whistle in the kitchen and it rouses me from my seat at the dining room table. As I make my way in, I nearly stumble over the stack of empty cardboard boxes.
Thank fuck I still have a few more weeks left of sabbatical leave. Moving is a nightmare and a half. The kettle silences as I pull it off the stove and instantly hear the rumble of John’s truck.
It’s odd that the most unbelievable thing to me is that Jay’s name was always and has always been John. I’m the only one to have ever called him Jay. A part of me loves it, and a part of me hates it.
The front door opens as I pour the water into the cup. I watch as the steam rises and the bit of calm normalcy is enough to make me smile as I hear his boots smacking on the hardwood floor.
I dunk the tea bag in and then again, watching as the light brown water turns darker and the color consumes the inside of the white ceramic tea cup.
My eyes lift at the sound of John picking up the boxes in the living room. The cardboard rustles as he lets out a heavy sigh.
“Why is there so much yellow?” he asks me. The question makes me smile into the cup and I nod my head once, recognizing the odd obsession.
“Yellow makes you happy,” I say simply. “Just seeing the color makes you happier than you were before.” I smile at him, but there’s a sadness in his eyes from the admission.
He may think he’s the fucked up one, but I needed him too. Desperately.
“Is this the last of it?” John asks and then leans against the doorway to the kitchen, ignoring my answer. His white shirt has a bit of dust swiped across the bottom which only makes him appear that much more masculine. His muscles flex under the thin fabric, pulled tightly across his broad shoulders and I absently blow across the top of the mug as I nod my head yes.
Slowly, we’re making this place ours. A complete home. It’s funny how even our décor seems to need each other for balance.
“Thank you for bringing it all,” I tell him. I almost say Jay, but instead I say nothing.
It’s odd calling him John, because he’s always been Jay to me. He never told me, but I can understand why. In a lot of ways, we’re learning more about each other, but in other ways, we’re learning who we are ourselves.