Page 96 of I'm Not Yours
“Oh no, June, please.”
He knew, he knew me well enough to know.
I burst into tears. “I’m not ready, I can’t do this.”
He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Honey—”
“I’m scared, Reece.”
“Why? We’re so great together, June. Give us a chance.”
“You’ve been clear that you’re looking for a wife. You want kids.”
“I do. I’ve always wanted that. It’s always been in the plan, but I hadn’t met the person who made up the other half of the plan until now. Dammit, June.” That temper was flaring again. “Did you think I was playing? A fun romance? A beach fling? Something to entertain me for a while? That’s never what I wanted. It’s not what I want now.”
“I can’t be a part of that plan.” My hands shook, my whole body shook. “I want to be, but I’m not ready for a relationship that is that deep. I know you need, and you deserve, someone who can jump into this feet first with all her heart and mind. You don’t need someone who is hesitating as I am, who doesn’t trust herself, who still cries at odd moments, and rages with anger, too. Not only at Grayson, but at herself. I am so mad at myself sometimes, Reece, I could scream. We need time off, Reece. I need time. I can’t be a couple when I’m so screwed up, not much confidence, so insecure . . .”
“No. No, June.”Tears filled those green, frustrated eyes. “Please, no. For God’s sakes. I don’t want to be apart from you.”
We went back and forth, ping-ponging, as the river rolled by, the music dim in the distance.
“Reece, give me some time. You have to. I have to get divorced, I have to figure things out. . . .”
We argued, he left, running a hand through his hair in frustration, his kilt swaying.
I stayed, crying.
A minute later I heard Grandpa Bill, Bill Jr., and Mack shoot their guns off. A minute later I heard one more shot. Turns out it was Ben’s Scottish grandpa’s gun. “For Scottish luck, to the newlyweds!”
It made me cry more.
Over the next few days, at home in our beach houses, Reece tried to convince me to stay with him, stick it out, grow together. I couldn’t. By the fourth day, I’d fallen apart and finally told him that his badgering was making me think of Grayson. “When you don’t get your own way, Reece, it doesn’t mean you can browbeat me until I give in. I'm not yours, and you're not mine. Don’t do this to me. It reminds me of Grayson.” I could not have said anything worse.
He paled, he teared up, he hugged my trembling, lonely body close. The door shut, so quietly, behind him.
He left the next morning and took all the sunshine in my life with him.
Mr. Schone called again the next day.
“Put it up for sale, Mr. Schone. Please. I am so sorry. I will not be able to buy the house.”
“It’s definite then, dear?”
“It’s definite. Did Mrs. Schone like the lace shawl I made her?”
“She adores it. We’ll wait a little longer, June, I think your ship will come in.”
“I hope so, Mr. Schone, I hope so.”
I did not see any ship on my horizon at all. Only drowned seaweed.
I slumped quickly into emotional darkness. We were buried in work; I worked fourteen hours a day and walked for one hour on the beach where I continued my search for whole black butterfly shells. I never found any. I made Morgan and Leoni matching lace skirts and Estelle a lace shirt.
I dreamed of Reece running toward me and I was running away and he was swallowed by a wave.
As the weeks turned into months, he never left my thoughts. My mind was a morass of liquid, seeping pain.
And it seemed to get worse.
