Page 52 of Saving Ren
“I’ll tell the boys the truth. I’m not covering for you anymore.”
“You’d do that? You’d do that tome, to theboys?”
“You think that’s worse than the shit you’ve done to me?”
“Oh, here we go, so what if you broke a fucking fingernail. . . wah, wah, wah.”
“You broke more than my fucking nail, you broke my heart, you very nearly broke my spirit, but not anymore. I’m done. I won’t be back, so you’d better get your head around it.”
“You’re so full of shit. You give it all that mouthy little Essex girl front on the phone, but I’ve seen how tough you really are when you’re laying on the floor begging me not to hurt you anymore, snivelling and fucking crying. Who the fuck wants that anyway? You used to have a bit of fight in you, Lauren, now you’re just a fat mess with no getup and go.”
I turn to see Gabe coming through the sliding timber doors. I switch my phone to speaker and place it down on the outdoor table. “Jay,” I mouth to Gabe.
“Come home, don’t come home, I don’t fucking care. Maybe stay away for a few weeks and work on yourself, lose some weight, and learn how not to be a mouthy little cunt.”
Eyes on mine, Gabe leans in silently, ends the call, then pulls me into him. With my face buried in his chest, I breathe in all that is him. Fresh clean air, citrus and sunshine, his unique scent already familiar.
“Why the fuck are you listening to that prick? The man’s obviously having some kind of mental breakdown now that he’s realised what he’s done and how badly he’s fucked up. I don’t understand why you’re putting yourself through listening to his bullshit when you don’t have to.” He speaks with his mouth pressed up against my ear. Despite slipping into bed beside me as I slept, this is the first attempt he’s made at getting close to me, and even though my head is still trying to catch up with events going on in my life, I’m only human. My skin erupts in goosebumps, my stomach clenches, and I physically shudder at his proximity and the sensation of his hot breath on me.
Hoping to disguise my body’s reaction to his, I let out a slow exhale.
“You’re right, I don’t. Putting up with his abuse has become a habit. I called to tell him to stop callingme. He was all over the place. Do you think that’s really what’s wrong with him, that he’s having some kind of breakdown? One second he’s telling me to come home so we can talk, the next, he’s coming out with all the shit you just heard.”
“No fucking idea, and I can’t say I really give a fuck about his mental state either.”
I feel a little pang of. . . something. . . in my chest. I shouldn’t care about what Gabe’s just said, I shouldn’t worry about Jay, but I’ve spent my entire adult life with him, and all of my old thoughts, feelings, and habits are going to take a while to move on from that.
“I understand why you do though, he’s still your husband, you’re not going to be able to switch all that off in just a matter of hours.”
I look up and meet his eyes looking down at me. He slides his palm up my arm and over my shoulder, his fingers brush across the curve of my neck until they finally meet bare skin at my jaw. His thumb gently strokes across my bruised cheek.
“You’ve spent most of your life loving him, you’re entitled. . . expected, to feel torn, but me? I have no affiliation, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s a coward who put his hands on you, and I’d like nothing more than to be given a chance to return the favour. Mark him, the way he’s marked you.”
I hold my breath the whole time he talks, letting it out slowly when he finishes.
“What do you need from me? What can I do to make this shit show a little better for you?”
I’m shaking so hard I feel like I’m vibrating, but talking to Jay was, surprisingly, easier than I thought it would be.
“You’ve done more than enough, and I think I’m actually doing all right.”
His lips twitch before eventually forming a smile.
“What?” I ask.
“All right? Yeah, I’m all right, you all right?”
“What are you doing? What is that?” I question, knowing full well he’s attempting to mimic my accent.
“Shut up. Hundred percent babe, you all right?”
“You need to stop. I don’t know what you’re attempting, but it’s so bad, you’re making all my bruises hurt at once.” I attempt to wriggle out of his arms but wince at the pain in my ribs and shoulder as he holds me in place.
His brows raise, and the smile is instantly wiped from his face, making me feel a pang of guilt. “Shit, sorry, did I hurt you? You didn’t take your painkillers last night. Have you had any this morning?”
“Nah, mate,” I reply in my best Australian accent. “I don’t like the way they make me feel. The pain’s okay anyway, at least it was, till you started talking like Bert The Chimney Sweep.”
“My Essex is better than your Aussie any day.”
