Page 149 of Stay with Me

“You got anything to say to that?” he asked.

I did. There was a lot I could say. This was the moment that he was giving me to take this whole shitstorm to a rational place, but I didn’t say anything, because there was a part of me that was still mad and I still was hurt and I was embarrassed about all of that and more. And I wanted to be a bitch. So I stared back at him in silence.

“Nice,” he retorted.

A wave of goose bumps rushed down the back of my neck. I needed to open my mouth. I needed to say something.

Then he moved another step and he was right in front of me. “I’m going to tell you what else, Calla. Like your life hasn’t been normal. It hasn’t been much of a life.”

And that was about when I found the ability to speak. “I have a life!”

“You do? Seriously?” he challenged. “Because I’m pretty sure you’ve done an awful lot of nothing when it comes to actual living. All you had is your Three F’s. What the fuck is that? For real.”

Surprise rocked me. “How do you know about them?”

“Tequila, babe. You were quite chatty.”

Shit! Of course he’d remember that. And now my embarrassment knew no limit. I’d shared my Three F’s, and they were just sad. And damnit, he was right about not really living. But that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“I’m the first guy you’ve kissed or been with,” he said.

“Oh, thanks,” I replied snidely, because now I had a firm grip on my anger.

He shook his head. “You aren’t getting what I’m saying. That shit isn’t something to be ashamed of. All I’m saying is that you haven’t let anyone get close and I bet there’d been guys who wanted to and you never saw that. Like I said, you don’t have a lot of experience with this.”

“Yeah, I think I get that. You’ve said it enough.”

He either wisely ignored that comment or was just generally done with me, because he said, “But there’s only going to be so far I’m going to be cool with this shit.”

Air leaked out in a slow, low breath as my muscles locked up. “What are you saying?”

“You obviously don’t trust me, but that’s not even the most messed-up part about this, Calla. You obviously don’t think very fucking highly of me if you really think I’d be okay with making plans to hook up with some chick while I had another one in my house, in my bed, wearing my shirt, you also obviously don’t know me at all.”

This time when I flinched it was for a different reason.

“And that shit burns,” he said.

Jax held my gaze while I dragged in deep, pained breaths, and then he turned and walked away. I watched him round the stairs and I heard him head up them. Then I heard a door slam shut.

I don’t know how long I stood there before I curled my arms around myself. I squeezed my eyes shut, no longer mad so much as I was confused. How had we gone from me being in the right and him in the wrong, to him being pissed-off at me and shutting me out? I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Or had I?

Had I jumped to conclusions? I hadn’t heard everything he’d said to Aimee. I’d only heard bits and pieces. And he had apologized for Saturday night. He’d said it would never happen again, but did that make up for what happened? I didn’t know. That was the problem. I didn’t know.

God knows how long I stood there before I gathered my courage and slowly crept up the stairs. When I reached the landing, I expected to find the bedroom door to be shut, but it was open.

It was the extra bedroom that was closed off. I started to move toward it, to knock on the door, but I stopped short, frozen with indecision. I stood outside the bedroom, hands folded against my chest, but I didn’t know what to say if I did knock and he answered. Flecks of red-hot anger still swirled around in me, mixing with the embarrassment and confusion.

My ears strained to hear movement inside the extra bedroom, and I thought I did hear footsteps nearing the door, and I tensed up in expectation of it opening, but after a few moments, I realized it wasn’t going to.

Biting down on my lip, I closed my eyes, gave it another couple of moments, and then turned, and because I really didn’t know what else to do, I went into the main bedroom and climbed into bed. I scooted over to my spot and waited, watching the clock on the nightstand. Minutes ticked by slowly, and finally I lay down, facing the open door. All of this felt wrong, lying in his bed with him angry at me and me mad at him.

I swallowed, but the knot in my throat went nowhere, and with the next blink of my eyes, my lashes were damp. So were my cheeks. I grabbed the pillow he slept on and tucked it close against my chest as I squeezed me eyes shut. My insides felt so hollow as I lay there, trying to make sense of how everything had gone so wrong and how I was supposed to fix this.

At some point my thoughts rolled into one and I must’ve fallen asleep and tumbled into a dream where I was in this house following Jax and calling out to him, but I could never seem to get his attention or catch up to him. And when that dream faded, I dreamed I felt his hand on me, skimming over the top of my head, carefully tucking my hair behind my ears. And I felt his lips brushing against my cheek.

It had felt so real that when I woke up, tired and bleary-eyed, I almost thought he’d be in bed beside me. That the spot next to me would not be cold, but it was. I still had his pillow snuggled close to my chest and Jax wasn’t there.

---