Page 44 of Poetry By Dead Men
"Nothing was wrong. I told you I was coming down with a cold,” I say, attempting to keep the defensiveness from my voice.
"You sound fine today," he says under his breath. On the outside, Bobby seems calm as he casually prepares our coffees, but I canfeelthe tension bubbling under the surface. He's not the only one of us who was good at reading the other.
"Tell me why you lied about leaving early," I demand, a flash of anger filling my chest. I lift my chin, not backing down. I already know the answer, but dammit, I want him to admit it.
Bobby places his hands flat on the counter and takes a deep breath, appearing to try to fight off his frustration, but he loses, shaking his headand turning to face me. He points a finger in my direction. "Because no matter what you say now, you were afraid last night. Your voice wasshaking, Beth. Fuck!” He pulls his hat off and flips it backward, taking two long steps toward me. “I mean…it took everything in me to not get in my car right then and drag you onto this bus to make sure you were safe."
My mouth cracks open, and the air from my lungs escapes in awhoosh. "What— What did you think was happening? Look at me! I'm perfectly fine." I gesture up and down my body, but wince at the small stab of guilt that nestles between my ribs. Ihadbeen afraid last night. Even if I’d overreacted.
“What happened to your arm?” his eyes turn stormy as he closes the distance between us and gently twists my arm to look at the cut.
I can’t meet his gaze. “Molly’s cat scratched me. Let go.”
Bobby drops his hands immediately, but he narrows his eyes, his jaw bunching and his hands clenching into fists.
“I don’t believe you.” He shakes his head. “I've met too many men like Harrison before."
"What exactly do you mean bymen like Harrison?" I take a step back. It’s too hard to think when he’s so close. When I can feel that familiar electricity against my skin.
Bobby crosses his arms. "Men who are used to getting what they want without pushback. Men who get a little too angry when they hear anything other than ‘Yes, sir.’”
I turn away, busying myself with straightening my top. Anything to make it so I don't have to look at him, because his words water the seed of doubt in my mind about Harrison’s character. The same one Harrison planted last night during his outburst. That’d I’d stepped on like a weed this morning in the light of day, certain I’d been overreacting. "I’m not having this conversation with you," I say.
He moves to the side, right back into my line of vision. "So, you’re saying there’s a conversation to be had?"
"God! You're as infuriating as ever!" I throw up my hands. "Harrison surprised me with dinner last night. We talked, and I decided to take this job."
Bobby scoffs as he takes a step closer. "And you were trembling with excitement at the opportunity to spend time with me? You expect me to believe that was it?"
"Harrison hasneverhurt me." I stand my ground, refusing to break eye contact as I lie. No. It’s not a lie, because it was anaccident.
"I guess I have to take you at your word then," he says, raising his chin.
He sees right through me, just like he always has.
"I'm done," I say, walking over to where Bobby dropped my bags by the door. "This was a mistake."
"No, Beth, wait." He sighs, running his palm down his face. His sleeves bunch around his muscles with the movement, and my stomach squeezes, despite my anger. I look away. "I was worried about you," Bobby says, his arms falling to his sides as if it's all the explanation he needs.
I twist my engagement ring around my finger nervously.
"I'm not yours to worry about anymore."
He nods several times, but it looks forced. "I understand that." He holds his hands out. “But I willalwaysprotect you. You can't expect anything less. It's in my DNA. Please. One more chance."
I chew on the side of my cheek, my emotions swirling together, so dense, I can hardly puzzle out how I’m feeling. Last night, I felt like I needed space from Harrison. Time to figure out if I could be who he wants me to be, if I evenwantto be the kind of partner he wants me to be. But he’s meeting with his therapist this week, and he’s under so much pressure at work. This is just a bump in the road.
Right?
The back of my arm stings as if in warning, and my stomach drops, a warning bell ringing in the back of my mind.
"One more chance. But if I stay, Harrison’s off limits. You've made how you feel about him very clear. I understand, and there's nothing more to say. Got it?"
"Got it," Bobby agrees, but the pained expression on his face tells a different story.
I drop my bags, and he opens the cabinet above the espresso machine, grabbing a purple bottle. He pours some lavender syrup in and stirs, then sets it on the table in front of the couch, and the gesture makes my already aching heart throb.
"Take a seat. Why don't you ask me some questions to get you started on the article?" He tilts his head side to side, stretching the tension out of his neck as he's forced to move the conversation forward, but he keeps his promise and holds back whatever he’s thinking.
