Page 77 of A Love That Broke Us
The tears still come, though. There’s no stopping them, no swallowing the ache back down. I don’t know if it’s my dad, the guy on the sidewalk, or hormones. Maybe it’s everything.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Jensen says quietly, his voice deep but soft.
“I don’t know.” I sniff. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling, but I just had a full-on meltdown on the sidewalk because of a homeless man.” I laugh-cry, because it sounds ridiculous even as I say it. “He was passed out. People were tripping over him. I couldn’t just leave him there, you know? So I moved him. Dragged him out of the way the best I could.”
Jensen pulls back, cradling my face in his hands. His thumbs brush under my eyes, catching the tears before they fall. The corners of his mouth lift, and he lets out a soft chuckle as he leans in to press a kiss to my forehead. “Of course you did,” he says. “You know that’s why I love you so much. You’re such a good person. You have a heart of gold.” He chuckles again, shaking his head as if he’s both proud and unsurprised. “No one else would’ve done that.”
“God.” I laugh through a new wave of tears, the sound breaking as it slips from my lips. “I feel so stupid. What is wrong with me?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head again, firmer this time. “Absolutely nothing.”
He watches me for a moment, his thumb brushing slow, rhythmic strokes across my cheek. “You wanna talk about your dad?”
Fresh emotion rises like a tide in my throat, catching hard just from hearing his name.
Jensen doesn’t wait for me to answer. His hand slides down, wrapping around my own, his fingers threading between mine. “I think you need to see him, Al,” he says gently. “I know it’s not my place, and I’d never push. It’s your choice. I’ll support you no matter what, but…” He lifts my hand and presses it to his chest, right over his heart. “I think you’ve been questioning it for a while now. I know you think about the wedding. About him not being there. I know that’s been killing you.”
I nod slowly, mulling over his words. “Dammit,” I whisper,pressing my forefinger into the corner of my eye as the dam threatens to break again. “You’re right.” I meet his gaze. “I know you’re right. I just… don’t want you to be.”
“Ah, babe. I know it’s hard being married to someone who’s always right.” He tries to keep a straight face, but the corner of his mouth betrays him.
I laugh through a sniffle. “Jerk.”
I nudge him, and he catches me instantly, crushing his mouth to mine—earnest, devout. He kisses me like he’s trying to stitch me back together with his lips alone.
God, how does he love me this hard?
His tongue teases mine, slow and deep, and then he nips my bottom lip before pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. “You could see him when we go for New Year’s. If you’re ready. I’ll go with you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip. “Yeah. Maybe.”
I kiss him again, climbing into his lap, his mouth a kind of comfort that always soothes the storm. His arms wrap around me, hands sliding down to my ass, and I break the kiss.
“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” I whisper, hovering just above his lips. “I can’t do life without you. I don’t want to.”
He cracks a small smile, eyes locked on mine. “I’d never leave you. It’s you and me, babe. Always.”
The next kiss is harder. Deeper. Hotter. He pulls back just long enough to meet my eyes and say, “For fucking ever,” before claiming my mouth again like it’s a promise he intends to keep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JENSEN
THEN
OCTOBER
I adjustthe ice pack on my knee, the TV casting just enough light to see. Some rom-com Alley picked plays in the background. I couldn’t tell you the name. It’s had a few funny moments, but I’ve stopped paying attention.
I take a long sip of my IPA, almost like I’m trying to chase the relief. My knee’s been giving me hell. Like always.
I only have eleven pills left.
Eleven.
I’ve started taking them in the mornings just to get through the day. I’m way more productive when I’m not gritting my teeth through every meeting. My mood’s better, too. When the pain flares, my patience thins, and I get irritable. That’s not who I am—not normally.
Up until last week, I was able to go every other day. Now it’s every day. It’s still just half a pill, though. Not a big deal. The dose is hardly anything. I’m still functioning, still working.
