“Jemmie?” My dad came out onto the wraparound porch holding a cup of tea in his hand. “What are you doing?”
Tugging at my duffel, I pulled it out of the back seat. It hit the packed dirt with a thud, and I slammed the door before hauling it and my purse toward the porch.
My dad’s eyes bulged, and he set his tea on the steps before lumbering down them to grab the duffel from me.
I thanked him but otherwise said nothing as we went inside.
“Jem,” he said, trailing me up the stairs to my childhood bedroom. The same room I sat in a few days ago, trying to find answers. I’d gotten what I’d asked for, so why did I feel even more confused than before?
“Jemima Dianne Clayton, care to tell me what the hell is going on?”
Being that it was Mom’s first name, I knew he’d only use my middle name if he was really concerned. “Sorry,” I said, sniffing and hoping my eyes had dried. “I’m okay. Miles is a fucking dick, but I’m okay.”
Dad blinked, dropping my duffel onto the bed. “He’s a dick, and you’re okay?”
I nodded, not wanting to talk about it just yet. I hoped he’d understand that without me having to say it.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Have you eaten? There’s beef stew in the fridge you can reheat.”
“I’m good,” I said, trying for a reassuring smile. It wobbled and fell. “I just need some time.”
After a long moment of studying me, he went to the door. “I’ll be watching the game if you need anything.”
Exhaling a relieved breath, I started unpacking my bag, hoping my work clothes for Monday weren’t wrinkled. I hated ironing.
“Oh, and Jemmie?” Dad called from down the hall.
“Yeah?”
“Is this a bad time to say I told you so?”
My eyes rolled, then watered. “Love you too, Dad.”
“Miss Clayton?”
I glanced up from where I’d been staring at the weeds sprouting around the climbing frame and found Lou Lou, her hair in two braids, standing before me.
“Hi, honey,” I said, then looked around. “Where’s Rosie? She doesn’t want to play today?”
Lou Lou sucked her bottom lip, then shook her head. “No, Rosie’s fine.”
Knowing she wanted to ask me something, I gave her my patience even though I longed to wallow in peace before I had to return to class.
“Are you okay?” she finally asked, peering closer at my face.
Shocked, I smiled and smiled big. “Of course, why do you ask?”
I’d been careful to be my usual self. School was almost done for the year, so I could fake it until summer break. Apparently, I hadn’t been careful enough. Or maybe Lou Lou was as perceptive as I already knew her to be.
“You seem sad.”
Oh, boy.
Her little hands wrung together, and leaning forward, I gently clasped them in mine. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. I promise I’m okay.”
“You promise?” She lowered her voice. “Daddy says promises are unbreakable. So you need to mean it.”
That made me smile for real. Regardless that it felt like a lie, people had their hearts broken every day and lived to see another sunrise. So I knew, no matter how much it hurt to force the words out, that I wasn’t breaking her promise by saying, “I will be okay, I promise. All in good time.”
Lou Lou stared. The innocent worry, the way her amber eyes searched mine for the truth to my words made me want to gather her close and squeeze her in a hug. Instead, I squeezed her hands, then released them, murmuring for her to go play.
She took a step back, eyeing me another breath before running to the playground, where Rosie appeared with a soccer ball in her hands.
I returned home hungry and weary.
Something that was becoming a horrible new normal.
The drive wasn’t long unless you tried to make the trip in rush-hour traffic. But I’d been at my dad’s all week and licked my wounds long enough, so I made plans to head back to my apartment that weekend.
As I brushed dust from frames and placed books on shelves, I smiled.
I smiled because even as the hurt bruised every breath I took, I was proud of myself. Not that being proud helped much. But the apartment that I’d kept was a sign that as much as I’d dived into our relationship with reckless abandon, and as stupid as it made me feel, I’d done one thing right.
And I desperately needed not to feel like a fool for a hot minute.
Dad had followed me into the city. His help wasn’t needed, but his company was appreciated as he helped me clean, ridding the apartment of dust bunnies and cobwebs. He was silent mostly, which I was thankful for, knowing he was probably seething inside after I’d finally divulged the details of what’d happened with Miles. He’d kept quiet for me, and for that alone, I hugged ten years off him on the sidewalk before he got into his truck and drove back home.
Rain pelted the window as I laid out some laundry to dry over a clothes rack in the corner of the living room. Draping a gray cardigan over the last free row of rails, I peered out the window to the cloud dusted sky. I wondered, a lot more than I wanted to admit, what Miles was doing. I wondered why he hadn’t tried to call me, or why he’d never shown up.
Was that other woman taking up all his time now? Had he really moved on that quickly?
I wondered, and I cried, and eventually, both things happened less frequently. It was scary that over the course of almost two weeks, I could already feel the difference in my chest. Feel it loosen more and more. The difference most noticeable when it clenched tight, making it hard to breathe, as thoughts of him knocked me sideways.
Hope had told me the trick was not to think about him after I’d caved and called her last week. But I’d tried that, and the fear of suffocating on memories was somehow worse than reliving them. So I forced myself to re-live them. Every night, in the safety of my twin bed with Funshine Bear and my ragdolls staring at me from their corners of the room, I let out what I no longer wanted weighing on my heart.
Four knocks hammered my door just after eight the following night, and I knew.
I knew it was him.
I wanted to ignore him. To forget him the way he’d seemed to have already forgotten about me, yet I got up off the old scratchy couch and padded to the door in my sleep shorts, a T-shirt, and slippers.
“Who is it,” I said more than asked.
“Jem, let me in. Or at least open the door.”
“Why?” I knew I would at least open it, but he could sweat first.
“Because I’m a huge fucking asshole who misses you. That’s why.”
My lashes felt heavy, my eyelids drooping to the scuffed floor as his hoarse words slithered inside my aching chest, burrowing into wounds that were healing, or at least trying to.
I opened the door.
Miles stared at me with assessing eyes and his head hung. He was the picture of torment with his arms braced on either side of the doorframe. Muscles seized, then bunched, and the energy radiating from him made me take a step back. I clung to the door as his gaze raked me from head to toe and back again, holding my stare.
“You weren’t here when I came by last week.”
“I was at …” I stopped myself from saying home, not wanting to hurt him even though I shouldn’t give a shit. It was then I realized you could hate and love a person at the same time. You could wish they’d never existed while missing them with a tenacity that scorched your insides.
He nodded, understanding. “Will you let me in?”
I shook my head.
He sighed out a long breath, arms falling away from the doorframe as he inched closer. He stopped and leaned into it, close enough to touch, and close enough to smack him in the face with the door if I let it go.
Tempting.
“I know I fucked up. I’ll never deny it—”
“But you did,” I cut in. “Deny it. You covered it up the whole time we were together, Miles.”
He swallowed, his jaw working. “Yeah. The thing is, I was telling the truth when I said there’s more to it. More that I can’t explain right now.”
“I can’t wait for that, and if I’m being honest, what good would it even do?” I begged for him to hear me, to understand. “It won’t change what you’ve done, will it? What you might do again, if you haven’t already.”
“No,” he said instantly, moving forward and cupping my chin. “I swear to you, it won’t happen again. I meant it when I said I’m not that guy, and I hate that I’ve made you think I am.” His head bowed, and his lips moved fast over mine, taking, prying, pleading.
I pulled away, loosening my hold on the door until it slipped free of my clammy hand.
He took the opening, taking two strides into my apartment and whispering with vehemence, “I love you, and I know you still love me.” His gaze dropped to the ring I still wore. The ring I couldn’t tug off my finger yet. It was more than just the pain it’d cause. It was saying goodbye to a fairy tale that I wasn’t ready to do.
“That doesn’t mean I can just forgive you. It doesn’t work like that.”
“So let’s make it work.” His voice was still low, rocking me on my feet with his stare and its intensity. “It’s you and me, babe. We’ll get through this. We just need time.”
Need time.
How often I’d said those words myself.
“Go. Please.” I grabbed the door. “I don’t want to do this.”
“I’m not leaving until I know I’ve still got you.” He reached out, grabbing the back of my head and threading his fingers roughly into my hair. “I’ll give you space, but I won’t give you up. Understand me?”
Words coated my tongue, weighing it down with all I wanted to say, scream, and yell. But I did none of those things. “I can’t tell you what you need to hear. And seeing as you can’t do the same for me, I’d think you’d understand that.” Tears hitched my voice, feathered up my throat, and pricked the corners of my eyes. “We’re stuck. There’s no moving.”
Miles dropped his hand, defeat dragging his shoulders as he retreated a step. “Not true. We’ll talk soon.” When I said nothing, he pressed, “Okay?”
Wanting him gone, all I did was nod.
After I’d slammed the door shut, I heard a growl of curses in the stairwell.
Seconds later, what sounded like a fist meeting the wall hid the sound of my choked sobs.