Page 51 of Nothing But It All
His face smoothens and then grows serious. A bubble of anxiety mixed with excitement grows in my stomach.
“Jack—”
He places a finger against my lips. “But even then, with your alcohol-poisoning fears and vomit breath, I knew you were the one.” His shy smile melts my heart. “I loved you then, but I love you even more now.”
My heart pounds. Is he ...
“Marry me, Lo.”
I gasp. “Jack . . .”
He chuckles nervously. “Is that a yes?”
“That’s a ...” I blink back tears and fling myself into his strong arms. “I would be honored to marry you.”
“The happiest day,” he says, brushing a strand of hair off my shoulder, “is the day you followed through with it and married me.”
Tears cloud my eyes. The emotion in his voice—the genuineness, the hope, maybe—stirs a barrel of similar feelings in my heart.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, not pulling away as his knuckles slide down my arm.
“What exactly do you think I’m doing?”
I exhale and pivot on my heel.
The depths of his brown eyes knock me off-balance. There isn’t a shield separating us. No levity can be found. It’s just Jack.My Jack.
“What do I need to do to fix this, Lo? Tell me.”
I sigh, walking around him in a wide circle. My head and heart collide. They both want what’s best for me. The problem is that they don’t agree.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he says, frustration thick in his tone. “Talk to me.”
“Why? Because you decided that right now is convenient for you?”
I stop at the far end of the table and face him. It’s enough space to give me room to think.
His lips part for what I’m sure is going to be a sarcastic reply, but he stops himself. Then he restarts. “That’s fair.”
I look at him, mouth gaping. My brain spins at this unexpected twist of events.
“Lauren, I’m sorry.”
Blood pushes through my veins at warp speed. “Sorry for what?”
“When it all boils down, I’m sorry for putting you in a position where you think the only way you can be happy is to be without me.”
I steady myself against the chair in front of me.
“I had no idea you were thinking about divorce,” he says. “And it’s bullshit that it took that to make me realize what was going on. That’s probably a symptom of the problem. But, Lo, there has to be a way for us to work on this. To fix it.Please.”
The evening orchestra of insects and frogs has begun to play outside the window. Their soft rhythm amplifies the tension in the room.
“You can’t want this,” he says. “You can’t want to walk away from the life we’ve built.”
“That’s not the choice I’m making.”
His brows raise.
