Page 84 of Hold You Close
She tries to shake me off, glaring at me over her shoulder. “Let me go, you son of a bitch. Once and for all.”
But I tighten my fingers around her wrist. “You’re wrong. I do care. I just see things clearer than you do. You need to take this opportunity or you’ll regret it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Thank you for mansplaining my life to me. Now let go.”
I don’t want to. Because I know that the moment I take my hand off her is the moment I lose her forever. I’ll be more alone than I’ve ever been. And more miserable, because now I know how good we can be together.
But I have to put her first. I have to be brave enough, strong enough to do what needs to be done. That’s what a man does.
I loosen my grip, and she yanks her arm away, unleashing a torrent of gut-wrenching tears at the same time.
Devastated, my throat tight, I watch her spin around and rush out the back door. She takes off across the yard without even shutting it behind her.
With my heart in a vise, I keep her in my sight until she disappears inside her house. I imagine her running up the stairs to her bedroom and throwing herself facedown on the bed to sob into her pillow just like Sabrina used to do when she was young.
Fuck, it hurts. Closing my eyes, I tip my forehead to the glass and gently bang it there a few times.I had no choice, I tell myself.I had no choice.
“Uncle Ian?”
I turn around to find Morgan there behind me, an uncharacteristically nervous look on her face. I clear my throat. “Yeah?”
“I thought I heard shouting. Is everything okay?”
Squaring my shoulders, I put on a blank face. “Everything is fine.”
“Where’s Aunt London?”
“She went home.”
“Why?”
“Because she lives there.”
Because I hurt her.
Because she’s not mine anymore.
Because every time I think we can get this right, I’m forced to sabotage it.
Ignoring the little voice in my head that insisted I was choosing sabotage for my own sake, I brush past Morgan and head for the kitchen. Lately, London and I have been packing lunches for the kids the night before. It makes the mornings less hectic, and right now I need something to do with my hands or I might put a fist through the wall.
Morgan watches me take out slices of bread, peanut butter and jelly. “Doesn’t she usually help you with the lunches?”
“Why don’t you help me tonight?”
She doesn’t answer right away. It’s clear she knows something is off. The little shit is so perceptive, just like her mother. “Okay.”
I hand her the butter knife and the jar of Skippy. “Here. You do that while I get the drinks.”
In the pantry I grab two small bottles of water for her and Chris and a juice box for Ruby. While I’m shoving them into their lunch bags, Morgan glances at me. “What are you mad about?”
“I’m not mad.”
“Yes, you are. I can tell.”
“Fine.” I go over to the fridge and yank it open. “I’m mad because nothing I do seems to turn out the way I want it to.”
“What didn’t turn out?”
