Page 21 of Diesel
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Her eyes soften just a fraction. “I’m not going to run, not this time, but you can’t fix this by suffocating me.”
“I know.” I do know this, but I can’t stop. I’m fucking terrified that she’ll leave again and the only thing I can do is hold her tighter. “I need to piss. If you do decide to run, I’ll find you again, Kenna. Don’t make chase you.”
Her spine straightens like she’s going to argue, but then she deflates and somehow that’s worse than if she’d lashed out at me.
“I’ll be downstairs,” she mutters and I wait a beat, listening for the front door, but it doesn’t open.
I duck into the bathroom and piss fast enough to make my head spin. When I’ve washed my hands, I rush downstairs and find her in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. She crosses her arms over her chest. “If you’re planning on keeping me here for any length of time then we need to get food. We can’t live on dried pasta.”
There is a town not too far from here, but I don’t want to risk leaving her here or taking her with me in case she bolts again. Not when she’s still angry at me, not when she still can’t look at me.
I pull out my phone and ignore the new missed calls as I pull up the contact I need.
The call connects on the second ring, and a guttural and gravelly voice answers. “Been a while since I last heard from you, Diesel,” Kirk says.
I resist saying what I want to. I don’t like him, neverhave, but right now he’s all I have. “I need you to deliver me something.”
“Right,” he sounds amused, which fucking confuses me. “Most people start with hello.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Yeah, I got that.” He makes a noise down the phone that I can’t decipher. “What can I do for you?”
I give him a list of things I need from the store—enough food for at least a few days. Then I give him instructions to leave the bags at the gate, far enough from the property that it won’t risk him seeing her. Then I hang up and when I turn, my wife is sitting at the table, her head in one hand, the other hand fisted against her abdomen.
“Firefly?”
Her eyes flutter open and my stomach lurches. She looks tired, and not just I didn’t sleep well tired. “Hmm?”
“You sick?”
“I’m fine.” She waves me off like I’m not looking at her.
Without asking, I press my hand to her forehead. She doesn’t feel hot, and she instantly tries to pull away from me, as if she’s irritated by my fussing.
“I said I’m fine, Zane.”
“You look like shit.” I don’t mean to say it quite so abrupt.
She pins me with a glare. “Is it any wonder? I spent the last few days running like my life depended on it and now I’m being held hostage in this house in the middle of fucking nowhere. And let’s not forget the fact that you handcuffed me to the bed last night. Do you really think I’m going to look like the picture of health and vitality?”
Her anger isn’t as sharp as it should be. She soundsexhausted. “You really want that divorce?” I didn’t intend to ask that, and now that it’s hanging between us, I wish I could take it back.
She doesn’t say anything for a long time and my nape starts to feel clammy.
Then she blows out a breath. “I don’t want a divorce, Zane. I want to be seen.”
SEVEN
MAKENNA
He blinks hard once,then steps back from me. His fingers curl around the back of the chair like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet. He’s processing, looking for solutions and understanding in my words.
I want to tell him that it doesn’t matter, that I love him and that’s enough, but I can’t. Because if we don’t fix this it’ll continue to eat at everything we are until the resentment is burrowed so deeply we’ll never dig it out.
How do I explain to him that I feel like a stranger in our marriage?
