Page 78 of Challenged By You
“And what, Jonas?” I struggle to sit up, but the piercing glare he sends me pins me against the pillows instead.
“You could have died. Then what, Trina?”
“It was an honest mistake, Jonas. Is there no room for forgiveness?” My question has so many layers he’s unaware of.
He opens his mouth and then closes it right before shattering me into a million pieces. “I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”
“What do you mean?” I hold my breath as he makes his way over to me.
“Nothing. Everything. Your mother’s coming in to watch over you and the kids for a few days. Mrs. McPhearson will help if you need to as well. Please don’t upset either of them by arguing; they both were distraught when they saw me carrying you up earlier.”
“You’re not staying?” I’m frantic as I clutch his shirt.
“I can’t.” And there’s something my head’s not letting me understand in those two words.
But since my heart is dying and I don’t want him to witness it, all I whisper is, “Then go.”
He leans in, presumably to kiss me, but I slam a hand in his chest. “I said go. You don’t get to come into my life and then hurt me more than this.” I point at the injury to my face. “Because why? Did you suddenly get scared? Guess what, Jonas. I get scared every single day I walk out the door. I have to leave my children to go to work. So did your mother. Accidents happen—some of them tragic. That doesn’t mean you lock yourself away and give up on love. If anything, it means you love more fiercely every chance you get.”
Jonas stumbles back from where I’m lying. “No. You don’t get it.”
“What don’t I get? That you’re running away the very second something happens?” I cry.
“Sweetheart, that’s not it.”
Wearily, I run a hand down my face and wince when I feel the swelling. “Just go.”
“Trina, right now, you don’t know what you’re saying—”
“What does it matter what I’m saying? You said you’re leaving. The door’s right behind you.” Turning onto my uninjured side, I pull the throw that was tangled around me up to my ear, waiting for the door to open and close.
“Trina, you don’t understand.” His voice is breaking right along with my heart.
“No, and I’m too tired to try. As you so eloquently put it, Mr. Rice, I have children to explain my injuries to in the morning. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest.” I close my eyes to dismiss him. If only it were so easy to remove him from our hearts. As it is, I don’t know what I’m going to say to explain what happened if I look as bad as Jonas indicated.
“This isn’t the end of this discussion,” he warns me.
No, that will be when I bake you a dessert made from apples.I mutter, “Okay. See you when I see you, I guess.”
With a muffled curse, he opens the door to my apartment. “She’s awake and she’s upset,” I hear him say.
There’s a response before, “No, it’s my fault. I started to lecture her instead of taking care of her, Marla.”
I realize he’s talking with my mother, but I can’t find the right words to scream or the energy to do so. Instead, I lie quietly as I’m breaking inside piece by piece. Will a few weeks of Jonas Rice be enough to sustain me for the rest of my life? I think desperately. Because I sure as hell don’t plan on putting myself out there emotionally ever again.
As a weight settles next to me on the bed, I speak for the first time since I heard the door close behind my mother. “I hate apples.”
“Why, Trina? Did something with them cause your injury” Startled by the caring in her voice, I rip down the blanket.
“You could say that.” When she winces, I tell her belligerently, “That bad, huh? Well, you can walk right out the door too.”
“The bruising is bad, but it’s the pain I see on your face that’s making my heart hurt, Trina.” Hesitantly, my mother reaches for my hand. Startled, I let her take it. When has my mother ever shown me this level of care—the kind I expected from Jonas? Quickly, I slam the door on those thoughts. “When I got the call from the restaurant you were on the way to the hospital, it scared me. But that’s not for now. Right now, you need to rest.”
“Mom? It hurts so much.” And I know I’m not just talking about my face.
“Shh, Trina. We’ll talk more after you rest. I’ll be here.”
As I drift off holding her hand, part of me is glad someone will be. Even if it feels like the wrong someone.
