Page 76 of A Love That Broke Us
The dam breaks. Tears spill down my cheeks, and I swipe at them with the backs of my hands.
Someone stumbles over him and gives him a kick, and I feel it like it was aimed at me. That could be someone’s father.
Suddenly, everything inside me aches. I don’t know if it’s because I feel hopeless for this man… or because I miss my dad so much I can’t see straight.
Another person bumps into me, this one calling me the C word as they pass. I stumble back, pressing into the side of the building, mybreath shaking in and out. My head tips against the firm brick, and I let the tears come. I let them fall. I don’t know why it’s all hitting me so hard right now. Maybe it’s everything—the past, the guilt—the ache of missing people I’ll never get back.
I told myself a long time ago it’s okay to feel. Healthy, even. So I let myself feel it. My eyes squeeze shut, and I picture the good times I had with my dad… and my mom. The four of us. The family vacations, sometimes with Michael’s friends or mine. Sunday homemade ice cream and a family movie.
My dadlovedJim Carrey. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seenDumb and DumberorLiar Liar.He’d laugh every single time like it was the first. Those were the good days. But they were rare. Most of my childhood is haunted by images I’ve tried to forget—of him being gone or coming home late. Even when he was there, he wasn’t. Not fully, anyway.
My body’s moving before I even realize it. I crouch beside the man. I don’t know if he’s drunk or high, but I’m not going to let him get kicked again. At least not today.
He smells of liquor and dried urine, and the dirt under his nails could start an ant farm.
I nudge his shoulder. “Hey.”
Nothing. Obviously. I know how this goes. I’m not going to wake him up or talk sense into him. I can’t fix this. All I can do is get him out of the way.
I step behind him and put my nursing skills to use, wrapping my arms under his armpits. His weight sags against me, dead and heavy. My feet plant firmly on the sidewalk as I use my legs, pushing with my body to drag him closer to the wall. My palms press into sweat and grit, and the strain bites at my shoulders.
A tear falls.
And then another.
I get him out of the way the best I can, my breath catching in my throat. I whisper a prayer for him, just a few words, soft and shaky, and turn to walk the rest of the way home.
I’m emotionally wreckedby the time I get home, and all I want is to melt into Jensen’s arms. I need a hug.
He’s asleep on the couch again. That’s the third time in two weeks I’ve come home to find him passed out in front of the TV. He must be stressed or worn down, because Jensen never naps. And he’s always been a night owl.
Weird.It’s only six thirty. Maybe he’s fighting off a bug.
I walk to the sink, rinse out my water jug, and slide it into the dishwasher. I hover for a second, debating whether to start dinner or wake him.
I really need to talk to him.
Crossing to the couch, I sit beside him and gently brush my thumb across his forehead. “Hey,” I whisper.
His eyes crack open, and after a few seconds, his brows furrow. “Hey,” he says, his gaze finding mine. “What’s wrong, babe?” He reaches for my hand, gripping it tight.
I lose it. All over again.
He sits up, pulling me into him, his lips pressing to my forehead. “Hey. Hey.” His hand moves in slow, soothing circles along my back.
“Michael texted me… my dad…” My words come out in sharp, broken sobs. “He’s sober… and he wants my number.” I shake my head against his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. “I don’t know what to do.”
Jensen’s chest rises and falls with a long breath. “Babe…” He exhales slowly, like he’s choosing his words. “That’s… a good thing. Right?”
I nod.
He stays silent for a long moment—just holding me, rubbing my back, pressing soft kisses to my hair. He lets me fall apart without trying to fix it. He’s just… there. Solid. Steady. Comforting.
And I know I’ll be okay. I’ll figure this out, not because he’s saying the right things, but because I have him. He’s my strength when I’m weak. My calm in the storm—my other half. He always knows how to show up when I need him most.
I tighten my arms around him, pressing in closer. I could stay right here with him forever—just the two of us.
I breathe in deep, steadying myself. I already feel a little better just having his arms around me.
