Page 48 of Returning Your Love
I was so screwed.
“Let me?—”
I shook my head while straightening my spine. “No. I…I need to do this on my own.”
“You don’t have to prove jack shit to your father right now, Chaz,” Jamie snipped.
“This isn’t about him.”
“The fuck it’s not!” His eyes blazed, and while I appreciated him having my back, I had to prove tomyselfthat I could take care of shit like a real man, that I didn’t needanyone’sacceptance of myself but my own.
A shitty time to recognize the truth of how badly I lacked self-confidence, but I wouldn’t quit until I found what I’d been missing.
“Please, Jamie,” I begged, wishing I could make him understand all the shit sloshing around in my head.
Jamie pressed his lips tight, thankfully not arguing further. “Okay.” He finally relented even though his eyes stated he hateddoing so. “I’ll go, but I’m available if you need me, no matter when.”
I nodded that I’d heard, not as an acceptance of his offer he’d clearly meant with all his heart.
He leaned in, and I allowed one last hug, his lips branding my forehead.
Fucking hell.
I gritted my teeth, refusing to pull away from his tenderness that would have me caving to weakness. Healing wasn’t going to be found by Jamie’s mouth or his dick. I needed to walk this journey on my own.
He left me there as I’d asked for, and cold seeped into my bones until I felt brittle—fragile—like a simple fall to the ground would shatter me into pieces.
Hours passed in a blur of doing shit exactly as I’d expected to have to do.
When I got home, I could barely see straight. Rather than slamming back a couple of shots of whiskey to fuck with my eyesight even more, I crawled into bed and passed the fuck out. Who expected emotional exhaustion to be worse than stress? I slept, but nightmares haunted my mind, not allowing the kind of rest I desperately needed.
The doorbell rang in the back of my consciousness, but I ignored it and whoever wanted to poke into my life and bother me right now. Didn’t matter they meant well—I wanted them fucking gone and leaving me the hell alone.
A long, hot shower rid my body of the filth from work on Wednesday. Shelly would have bitched if she’d been around tosee me climb between the sheets un-showered after a long day in the shop.
Why didn’t my eyes fill with tears at the thought?
Silence hung heavy over the house we’d shared, but I couldn’t be bothered to hate the absence of another living soul inside the walls. Talk about making me feel even shittier.
I brewed coffee.
Nibbled on toast.
Ignored my ringing cell.
The quiet should have had me huddled over in despair or at the very least teary-eyed. Instead, I sat on the couch, staring at the TV’s dark screen, my eyes dry as a fucking bone.
Shelly had an affair, and while I hadn’t fucked Jamie, I was no less guilty of the same. We had both broken our vows to each other, so why didn’t that truth ease my conscience?
It was the pregnancy that bothered me the most, even more than my wife’s death. Did the guy even know she was—had been—married? Had he just not cared and was so desperate to love her, fulfill her desires, that he would fall into bed with her and give her all the happiness I hadn’t been able to?
“Fuck.” I rubbed a hand over my face and lifted my coffee mug for a sip.
It was empty.
Grumbling, I stood and shuffled into the kitchen, realizing as I did, that I’d never bumped the heat back up last night when I’d gotten home. I’d put it down the morning before since Shelly was leaving and I didn’t need the house to be as warm as she preferred.
Used to.
