The horrible awkwardness that had settled between me and Jordan finally came to a boil the following Saturday. For the first time in months, Jordan wasn’t working and we were home together. Annabelle had taken Ryder to visit her sister in Boulder, leaving us with an empty house.

I wanted to use the precious time to talk about things and clear the air between us.

Obviously, I was the only one.

He had been avoiding being alone with me since the night we talked about having children. I had tried to fix things between us on countless occasions since, but whenever I tried, he brushed me off by saying he was either too tired to talk or running late for work.

We were sitting on opposite sides of the couch.

Jordan was staring at the television screen while I was staring at his side profile.

I was totally confused by his behavior as of late. It felt like we had taken three steps forward in our relationship only to take ten more back.

I was running out of patience with this cold, standoffish version of my husband and I finally said as much. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm?" he replied, not looking at me.

"I asked you what's wrong," I repeated calmly, even though it was a hard thing to do. I hated being ignored. It was a hard limit for me. I had spent close to eight years being ignored by this man. I wasn’t prepared to do it again, not when we sat less than two feet apart from each other. "You've barely said more than two words to me in over a month," I added, trying to remain cool and composed. We were both adults and I wanted this to be a civilized conversation. "Is it because I said I wanted a baby?"

"Is what because you said you want a baby?" he replied, jaw clenching, still watching the television.

Anger flared to life inside of me. "This silent treatment, Jordan." That had to be it. I knew it. Men freaked out about babies.

"No," he responded. "We talked about the baby thing. That's done with."

"Is it because of the bar?"

He frowned. "The bar?"

"Yeah," I snapped, flushing. "Because I got drunk?"

"You're a grown woman, Hope," he replied tightly. "You can do whatever you want to do."

"Then why are you being like this?" I demanded hotly.

"Like what?" he asked flatly.

"So cold towards me," I hissed, chewing on the inside of my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

"I'm not being like anything towards you," he shot back tersely. "You wanted to spend time together and I'm here. You wanted to eat dinner together, and I cooked us a meal. You wanted to watch a movie, and I'm watching it. I don’t know what else you want from me, Hope. I'm doing what you asked."

"I want to talk," I said with a sigh of exasperation.

"And I don’t want to," he deadpanned, shutting me down with the lack of emotion in his voice. Dammit, he was behaving like a fucking robot.

"Please talk to me, Jordan," I whispered. "Because I'm starting to feel like I don’t even know you anymore." And the truth was, I didn’t. He wasn't the boy I'd grown up loving. He certainly wasn't the man I'd pledged to halve my life with. That guy was gone.

"We used to be best friends," I choked out. "We used to tell each other everything." I shook my head, at a complete loss. "Don't you remember?"

"I remember," he bit out as his jaw ticked.

"You took me to my first dance. You were my first kiss. You were the first person I did everything with. And now?" I forced down the sob threatening to rack through me. "Now, it's fading."

"Hope, don't –"

"Why not?" I demanded. "It's the truth, isn’t it? You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t show me you love me. You don’t even seem to care!"

"Of course, I care."

"Then prove it," I shot back, chest heaving. "And talk to me."

I watched as his body grew rigid and his jaw worked over. Finally, he said, "Okay. What do you want to talk about, Hope?"

"I don’t know," I shot back. "How about our marriage? Or how you're feeling? How you feel about Derek now? Or maybe your mother?"

The mom question was one I had been dying to ask him for months now, but hadn't managed to scrape up the courage. I knew absolutely nothing about Karen or what had happened to her since leaving The Hill.

Back when we were kids, I resented her so much that I hadn't cared enough to ask. In my ten-year-old mind, she was the woman who had stolen my best friend away from me and could go to hell. As the years passed by, I thought about her on and off, but the resentment I felt was still very much alive, so I had never delved deeper. I had only cared about Jordan's wellbeing. Never his mother's.

Jordan stiffened on the couch but didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to stare at the television screen, blatantly ignoring me.

This irked me.

"I asked you a question," I snapped in a tone a little hotter than I usually used with him. I didn’t want to come off like a bitch, but I wasn’t invisible either. I was his wife, and I deserved an answer.

"I know," he replied tightly. I watched as his jaw worked and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I'm not ready to talk about her, Hope. Talk about something else. Please."

I wanted to scream well I am! But it was his choice.

I couldn’t force him to talk to me.

It was his decision on how far he wanted to let me in.

"I want to help you, Jordan," I announced before releasing a weary sigh.

I was weary.

Weary of fighting and losing ground.

Weary of standing on the sidelines, looking in. I wanted full disclosure.

I wanted to be the woman he confided in.

Not Annabelle.

"You are helping me." He turned to face me then and his eyes were like green emeralds burning bright. "Being here with me?" he croaked in an almost helpless tone. "Staying? Giving me a second chance? That all helps me."

But it's not helping me, I wanted to shout, it's not enough for me.

I held my tongue.

Arguing with him about this wouldn’t give me the answers I needed. It would just add to the long list of growing problems we were facing.

So, I smiled at him instead before turning back to look at the television.

I had no clue of what was happening in the movie we were supposed to be watching and I cared even less.

I managed to keep my mouth shut for a good ten minutes before losing the battle with myself.

Reaching for the remote control, I snatched it up and switched off the television before turning to face my husband.

"I can't do this, Jordan," I told him as I knelt on the couch beside his stiffened frame and reached for his hand. "I can't keep walking on eggshells around you wondering if the next question I ask is the one that pushes you away." I shrugged helplessly, willing him to understand my point of view. "What am I doing here, Jordan?"

"What do you mean?"

"This isn’t right," I bit out. "None of this feels right to me."

"Don’t say that."

"It's the truth." I shook head and exhaled a weary sigh. "I feel like I'm bending over backwards to make this work and you're just…slotting me into your world when I've moved mountains to make you happy."

No response.

"I'm your wife." I emphasized the word, praying that title still meant something to him. "I deserve to have my questions answered." I held one of his hands in both of mine and squeezed. "For better or worse, remember?"

Jordan remained completely motionless. He didn’t respond or turn his face to look at me. He just continued to stare at the now blank television screen. He didn’t squeeze my hand back. It was like dead weight in my hand.

The only clue I had that told me he was listening to my words was his increased breathing and the slight flair of his nostrils as he clenched then unclenched his jaw.

"I told you," he finally bit out, still staring straight ahead. "I don’t want to talk about her."

"Well, I do!" I all but screamed, and the shrill sound surprised me. "I want to talk about her," I added in a gentler tone. "I want to know, Jordan. Every damn thing. I want to know about your mother. I want to know about your thoughts, and how you feel? I want to know it all." My voice was rising again, but I couldn’t help it. I had finally plucked up the courage to confront him on the life he kept hidden from me and I didn’t dare stop now. "And Paul," I choked out. "I want to know how much time in prison he got." I was shaking now and so was Jordan. Maybe I had crossed the line bringing up his evil bastard stepfather, but I needed to know, dammit! "I want to know that rat bastard paid for what he did to you. I need to."

"Why?" Jordan roared, finally losing his cool. Leaping from the couch, he put as much space from me as the small room allowed before looking at me with the angriest expression I'd ever seen him wear. "So you can go running back to Thirteenth Street and report every fucking detail of my life to your parents?"

Every ounce of blood drained from my face. My mind was reeling. "How did you…" I began to say, but my words faltered when I saw the look of betrayal in my husband's eyes.

"How did I find out you told your parents about my business?" he offered in a harsh tone. "Because of your mother."

"My mother?" I gasped.

Jordan nodded. "She showed up here back in March like Mother fucking Teresa, begging for forgiveness." He ran a hand roughly through his hair before hissing, "I trusted you, Hope!"

"I know," I choked out, mortified. "I'm so sorry."

"That wasn’t your story to tell," he continued to say, furious. "It was mine, and if I wanted the whole fucking world to know about what happened to me, I would have said. It wasn’t your fucking call!" He ran his hand through his hair once more, but this time he yanked hard on the ends. "Who else did you tell?" He turned and glared at me then. "Noah and Teagan? Do they know, too?" he demanded. "And that felon they live with – how about him?"

"Who?" I gaped. "Lucky?"

Jordan nodded. "What about him? Does he know my business, too?"

I opened my mouth to say no, but quickly snapped it shut, knowing full well that Jordan could see through my lies. "I'm sorry."

Fury blazed in his green eyes. "God fucking dammit, Hope!"

"I'm sorry, okay?" I squeezed out, feeling winded. "I was trying to help you."

"Help me?" He laughed harshly. "Well, thanks for trying. I feel a lot better now."

"Jordan," I spluttered, feeling physically wounded by his verbal outburst. "I love you. I'm trying to help –"

"It's got nothing to do with you!" he roared, visibly shaking. "So, stop, Hope. Stop trying to help! My past doesn’t affect you so stop asking goddamn questions. It's my damn business, Hope. Not yours. Mine!"

"How can you even think that?" I demanded, his words causing me to lose control. "Of course it affects me, too." Was he fucking serious. "I’m your wife, Jordan!"

"And I've told you everything I'm willing to tell you, Hope," he countered shakily and I could tell he was holding onto his temper by the skin of his teeth. "So, do us both a favor and stop fucking pushing for more."

"No!" I screamed, not backing down one bit. I couldn’t believe this was happening. How had this escalated so quickly? "You stop! Stop being so selfish and fucking stubborn," I hissed. "And talk to me, dammit."

"Selfish?" he repeated, paling. "SELFISH?"I watched in a mixture of shock and horror as Jordan moved towards the television and yanked it clean off the wall mount before tossing it against the wall opposite me. When that didn’t completely satisfy his need for violence, he kicked over the coffee table, but not before knocking all the photo frames off the mantel piece. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he roared in a voice he had never used with me before. His tone was frightening, but my anger overrode all the fear inside of me

"You have some fucking nerve calling me that when everything I've ever done was to keep you safe–" His voice broke off and he rubbed his jaw, obviously trying to calm himself down.

It wasn’t working though.

Jordan was still thrumming with fury. It was emanating from him in waves, and red flags were flying up around me.

But I didn’t move.

Instead, I stood my ground and faced him.

Jordan wouldn’t hurt me.

As furious as he was, I knew he would never put a hand on me.

"You're going to regret doing that when you calm down," I bit out, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill.

"Then I'll add it to the long list of mistakes I've already made," he sneered. "Including coming back here!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I countered shakily.

"Nothing," he spat. "Forget it. You've probably never regretted anything in your life."

"I have regrets," I shouted out shakily. "I regret keeping your secrets when we were children. I regret being the one person with the knowledge and power to save you and not using that knowledge. I regret not saving you from becoming the heartless monster in front of me."

I flinched at the cruel words that came out of my mouth and tried a different approach.

"Look," I said in as calm a tone as I could muster given the circumstances. "We're both acting like teenagers." Raising my hands up in the peace motion, I added, "Let's both just cool down here and talk about this like mature adults."

"You're still not getting it, are you?" Jordan snarled, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was in pain. "I don’t want to talk about it with you, and I'm not going to talk about it with you. Not now or ever! Do you need me to write it down for you, hot shot author, so you finally understand? Or are you actually going to listen to me for once in your fucking life?"

Yeah, I was so not staying here to get chewed up and talked down to like I was a piece of shit.

Snatching my purse off the coffee table, I jumped off the couch and rushed straight for the front door.

"Shit, Hope, I'm sorry – wait," Jordan called after me, but I didn’t respond and I didn’t stop walking.

Apologies in the heat of the moment meant nothing to me. They were automatic words thrown about to settle both pride and conscience. I had too much respect for myself to fall back into his arms right away after he spoke to me like that.

I needed a time out and, from the looks of the trashed televisions set back there, so did Jordan.

* * *

Jordan

"I fucked up," I whispered, clutching my phone in my hand like it was the only thing keeping me rooted to the ground. I stared in horror at the trashed living room and the carnage I'd caused after Hope left and hung my head in shame. "I fucked up so bad."

"Where are you?" Annabelle's familiar voice filled my ears and I sagged against the couch. "At the house." I clenched my eyes shut, forcing every bad image and memory that was threatening to overwhelm me away from the fore point of my mine. "She's gone."

She ran.

She fucking ran out on me and didn’t look back.

Even when I called her name, even when I begged her to stay, she just kept running.

A part of me wanted to let her go. If she couldn’t handle me now, what was the fucking point? This was mild. I could be worse. I could be so much worse.

I never wanted to be responsible for making Hope look at me like that again. I could see the devastation in her eyes earlier. It ruined me. Disgust and self-loathing filled every inch of my body. I wanted to drop to my knees and beg her for forgiveness. I knew she would forgive me. Problem was, I would never deserve it and couldn’t promise her that an incident like today wouldn’t happen again. My mood swings were unpredictable. I couldn’t understand them myself. And right now, I was plummeting fast into the pits of despair.

"You warned me this would happen and I didn’t fucking listen," I choked out, forcing myself to breathe through the pain that was threatening to overtake me. "I'm done, Annie. I need to get out of this place. I'm so fucking tired of this."

"It's going to be okay, Jay," Annie soothed. "Just stay where you are. I'm on my way."

"How?" I whispered brokenly. How was anything going to be okay? "They all know." Anger fused inside of me. "She fucking told them about him!"

Nothing was going to be okay again.

That was the only thing I was sure of.