Page 110 of Forget Me Not

“I deserve to catch up with my friends without having you make the entire night about you.”

“I didn’t do anything. I stayed out of your way.”

“And now I’m paying the price for it. Do you hear how fucking crazy you sound?” He hits himself in the temple, enunciating his words.

Home. Port Nova. The inn—

“All you do is fucking think about yourself, Nova. You don’t think about what I want? Or my needs?”

“Jack, I got this entire party together for you. I cooked, cleaned. Did everything you asked.”

“And you want some kind of reward. It’s fucking selfish.”

“I’m selfish?”

“You’re acting like it,” he argues, his voice raising. “You can’t just do something nice for me? I have to shout it to the world?” He strides to the window, opening it, and letting the cool, February air seep into the kitchen. “Hey, everybody!”

“Stop!” I urge, panic seizing in my chest, but he doesn’t listen.

“My wife wants everyone to know she finally cleaned the fucking house!”

I can’t stop the tear that slips down my cheek any more than I can stop Jack from screaming and waking our neighbors. He slips back into the window, shutting it so hard the glass rattles from the impact.

“There? Happy now?”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

I turn to stride away from him, but he grabs me around the wrist.

The singular thought in my head when his fingers tighten to near bruising strength?

This is new.

“Don’t just walk away from me. It’s fucking rude.”

“Let go of me,” I grit, wrenching away from him and stumbling back into the kitchen counter so hard, I jostle the plates sitting on the edge.

Jack releases me like I’d burned him and we both stare at each other in angry silence. Me with tears in my eyes. Him with guilt.

I hate him, I realize, just as he steps forward.

He tries to come to me. Comfort me, but I can’t . . . have his hands on me right now.

“Stop.”

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice softening. “Come on. We can just forget about it and go to bed.”

“Stop,” I try again when he reaches for me a second time, but he’s bigger. Faster. He grips my arm, gentler than the first time, though it still feels like a branding iron on my skin. He tugs me to his chest and I go because he’s who I seek out in times when the world feels like it’s caving in on itself. When the sounds are too loud and I need solace, I find him.

What does it mean when he’s the villain as well as the hero in this story?

“Let’s go to bed. I don’t want to fight with you.”

He holds me, strongly. Fiercely. Like he loves me. Like I’m his last chance at salvation.

“I don’t want to fight,” he repeats, swaying with me in his arms and I suck in the tears that are rolling down my cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispers, pulling back to look at me. He cups my face in his hand, holding my gaze to his. “You know that.”

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