You Need to Mean It
Kenna
Warm. I’m too warm, and my head is killing me.
Heavy, I feel heavy, weighed down.
As I slowly wake up, I realize I’m all tangled in Jake. Trying to move, I wince. My head hurts. Damn, I’m hungover. I don’t go out often, and I’m not what someone would consider much of a drinker, so right now, I can easily swear off alcohol for a lifetime.
Oh shit, I got home late, and I never called Jake. I let Chad drive me home. Oh shit.
I look over and take in my beautiful Jake. His breathing is steady, relaxed, calm. How calm will he be when he wakes up?
When I can’t take the dull throbbing in my head anymore, I start to get up to go search for pain meds, causing Jake to stir.
“Angel, you okay?” he asks groggily.
“Headache, babe. I’m okay. Let’s just lie here.”
Willing him back to sleep and hoping he does so quickly, I lie back down.
When I think it’s safe and I feel like my head is going to explode, I hurry out of the bed and downstairs. Finding my purse, I take two Motrin and drink a full glass of water.
I’m leaning over the kitchen sink when I feel his eyes on me.
“So, are we going to talk about everything? Hell, are we even going to talk about anything?” he asks.
Yep, he’s angry, which makes my defenses automatically go up.
“We can talk about whatever the hell you want,” I reply a bit more harshly than I originally intended.
“Who is Chad? Why the hell did he drive you home?” Jake’s glare is fierce.
“A coworker, a friend. He wasn’t drunk last night; I was.” I hope that, if I keep my answers short and to the point, this will be over sooner rather than later.
“You could’ve called me. Dammit, you should’ve called me,” he says, never breaking his icy stare.
“He was already there. Plus, I thought you would still be at work. That’s where you’ve been most of the time, anyway.”
“You know Brayden just got back. Between him being in rehab and Ryder’s time away before that, the shop has been backed up. If you wanted me home more, I would’ve worked it out. You said nothing more than you were going out with friends, as usual, nothing specific. You never tell me anything! Yet, when it comes to me, you demand nothing less than open honesty.” His tone is now sharp.
“I don’t need you home more,” I snap. “I manage every time you’re gone without cracking.”
“Then what the hell do you need, Kenna? Let’s quit dancing around here. What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Need?”
I am definitely dealing with a very angry Jake now.
I stare stupidly at him. He knows what I want, so why do I have to beg? I won’t humiliate myself by saying it over and over again.
Before I can mutter any words, he says it for me.
“You want to be married? Fine, Kenna, we’ll get fucking married!” he roars, his hands in fists on his hips, pure rage rolling off him.
Whispering, I manage to say, “Shut up. That’s not how you propose. You don’t mean it. You have to mean it, Jake.” I begin sobbing uncontrollably as the emotions overtake me.
After moments of me crying and him standing there, he replies, slowly calming down, “You just keep pushing. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“We both need to let it go. We’ve spent months hurting each other,” I stammer between sobs.
I walk into the living room, needing to sit down before my knees give out. My entire body shudders as I continue crying. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Jake sits beside me, pulling me into his arms. “Shh … shh … Angel, please calm down. I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”
I lean into him while he rubs small, soothing circles into my back. Eventually, I drift off to sleep.
***
Jake
Once I’m certain Kenna’s asleep, I lay her down on the couch. Too much adrenaline is in my system, so I head to the garage to work out.
Everything about me screams all-American good boy. I played football, baseball, joined the Army Reserves. I drive an old 1951 Chevy pickup truck and my motorcycle. I like cars, bikes, guns, fishing, hunting, hiking, and anything else outdoors. My hang up isn’t commitment; it’s that marriage ends in divorce. It’s knowing that, even with the ring, the wedding, the paper, the name, I’m still replaceable. My mom has replaced me my entire life.
My mom. We haven’t heard from her in a while. Maybe it’s time we have a long, overdue chat.
Brayden is home from rehab and has opened up about his past. As messed up as my childhood was, my mom never wished me dead as his does. She often put me down, considered me baggage, but she never wished me gone for good. She never wished anything truly bad for me.
When my mom was single, we shared a few good memories. She was between husbands when I was six, and the divorce settlement must have been good because we went to Disney World for a week, just the two of us. It’s by far the best memory of my childhood. It was truly magical.
I may not like the decisions she made, but she was young and selfish. Looking back now, my mom never put me in a bad situation. I was always taken care of, even if I had to pay for it. I could always call her if I actually needed her. In the back of my mind, I always knew that.
Nothing was ever permanent with her, though.