Page 44 of Kings Don't Break
It’s humiliating that, even now, as I delete each message he’s sent me, a tiny piece of me wonders what if…
Maybe this time really will be different. We really can work through it.
I force the thought away and slide my phone into my jeans’ pocket. Mama’s been watching me this whole time, her expression downturned.
It becomes a running theme over the next week. Blake and Mama watching me with a hawk’s eye and treating me like I’m made of glass. I stay hidden away in Blake’s trailer except for the quick runs we make to places like the Buy N’ Save.
Any time I’m too silent or withdrawn, they’re making it their mission to engage me. Mama comes over as I lay curled up on the sofa and strokes my hair like she used to when I was a little girl. Blake makes it his mission to provide me whatever he thinks I need in the moment. If it seems like I’m shivering from being too cold, he’s cranking up the heat or bringing me extra blankets. If I seem too somber, he’s trying to make me laugh, trying his damnedest to draw even a smile out of me.
Their concern is appreciated.
But other times, I can’t help craving solitude.
Though Ken's number remains on block and I don’t return his efforts to contact me, it doesn’t erase the heartbreak. It doesn’t make the grim reality of what happened that night an easier pill to swallow.
My husband, the man who took a vow to love and cherish me ’til death parts us, profoundly hurt me.
The vision of his face clenched in rage haunts me. The suffocating grip of his hands around my neck is a feeling I won’t ever forget. I’d started gasping for air and he’d only squeezed harder, his gray eyes lacking any sign of a soul. Not a sliver of love to be found.
Where do I begin processing that the man who was supposed to love me actually hates my guts?
He must if he’s done what he’s done.
…at least that’s what my logical side insists whenever my heart aches.
“Hey,” Blake says, drawing me from my thoughts.
He breezes into the living room and drops down on the opposite end of the sofa. Because I’m lying down, my feet take up part of the cushion he sits down on, but that doesn’t deter him—he merely lifts them up by my ankles and places them in his lap.
It mirrors old times. We were teenagers that often wound up with our bodies touching in some capacity when we watched TV on Mama’s sofa.
“What’re you watching?” he says, staring ahead. The blue light from the TV reflects on his face, the rest of the room dark. He chuckles when he recognizes the scene in the movie. “Assassin’s Gamble. Classic.”
“It came on after the news. You can change the channel.”
“You don’t remember when we saw this at the Sunday matinee for three bucks? It was summer between sophomore and junior year. We’re watching it.”
I push myself into a sitting position and draw my legs back despite Blake’s attempt to keep my sock-clad feet in his lap. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to force yourself to spend time with me. It’s a Friday night. You should be at the club with Mason and the guys.”
A mysterious gleam flickers in Blake’s vivid blue eyes. “Ever consider I’m right where I want to be?”
“You’ve wasted so much of your time on me?—”
“It’s never been a waste in the past. It’s still not a waste today. Kori, do me a favor. Every time you get the urge to feel like you’re a bother, stop yourself. ’Cuz that damn sure ain’t the case. I’ll tell you that now.”
My teeth rake over my bottom lip, my anxiety through the roof. “I’m sorry. My thoughts are all over the place. I’m such a mess.”
“Don’t.”
I blink at him. “Don’t… what?”
“Ever say sorry,” he says. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I bet you’ve spent years doing it—I can see it all over you. How sorry you’ve been. But that ends now, alright? I don’t ever want you to feel sorry. Like you’ve done something wrong. As for where I’m spending Friday night. I’m choosing to be here. Gimme those feet.”
He snatches them back and repositions them in his lap. I’d object if I wasn’t so thrown by the sincerity behind his actions. His touch and his words.
Blake and I have known each other since we were first graders learning how to add and subtract and spell simple words.
I can tell when he’s lying.
