Page 10 of Nothing But It All
I hum as if I don’t care. And I don’t. Not really.
“You need to ban those idiots,” Jack says. “People are ridiculous. Who knows who might show up late one night with bad intentions? I want to go to sleep knowing that you and the kids are safe.”
Damn it.I blow out a breath as my urge to argue with him—the survival mechanism I’ve developed over the last few years—wanes.
When he acts like this, I’m reminded of the man I fell in love with. The sweet guy who sat with me outside a bar while I hurled my guts up on my twenty-first birthday. The handsome man who got down on one knee in a rainstorm, because it had rained all weekend, to ask me to marry him at Story Brook Lake. The protector who swung me in a circle when he found out we were having our first child.
Why did things have to change?
Jack slips his T-shirt up and over his head.Has he been going to the gym again?“I talked to Dad this afternoon. I told him Michael and I might stop by on our way to Hocking Hills.”
“How is he feeling?”
“His blood sugar was a mess. I was a minute from calling an ambulance when he said the number was back down.” He squeezes his forehead. “He’s more of a headache than the kids.”
For you, maybe.
My irritation subsides as I take in the pain on Jack’s face.
His biggest fear is that something will happen to Harvey, and he won’t be there to help him. But his dad refuses to move out of the house he shared with Myra and is fiercely independent, so there’s not much Jack can do.And I hate that for him.
Jack’s gaze holds mine before he rips it away.
“Thank you for breaking the news to him about the cabin,” I say, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
I pause and look at him. “What does that mean?”
He sets the Coke on my desk and then turns to me. His muscles shine in the light beaming in through the windows.Good grief.He leans forward, his eyes glued to mine.
My breath catches in my throat.
“Has it ever occurred to you that I’m not incapable?” he asks.
I force a swallow down my throat. “Incapable of what?”
He glares at me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, instantly defensive—the moment stolen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You act like it surprises you that I’m capable of anything.”
“Oh, I know you’re capable. I just have low expectations.”
“And that’s a fucking problem, don’t you think?”
I stand taller. “What? The fact that you’re capable or the fact that I’ve given up hoping you will exercise that ability when it comes to me?”
He walks across the room and stands in front of me. The intensity of his gaze makes my knees wobble. I have no idea what he’s going to say, nor do I understand why he’s making a point to argue this now.Isn’t it moot?
I search his eyes longer than I should—long enough for my heart to soften. Long enough to remember exactly why I avoid seeing him at all anymore. It just makes things harder. It pulls me back into a vicious circle of caring, then hurting, ending in disappointment.
“When are you and Michael leaving?” I ask.
His jaw pulses. He stares at me for another second, then two. Finally, he sighs and swipes his shirt and the can off my desk.
I exhale in relief.
