Look at us. This wasn’t us. Two broken hearts, two souls wrapped so tightly we’re left with this. Two people with so much pride and regret, we couldn’t get out what we needed and neither could forgive.
It took me a moment to get my head around it, but when I did, I was pissed. “Jace—”
Jace’s fists were visible at his sides, clenched, knuckles white, demanding to be told the truth. “No. Fuck this!”
I was slow to respond to him. Stunned by the way he was staring at me. I had never heard him like this. So angry, so livid.
“Keep your voice down,” I warned him. He immediately got up and took me into the kitchen on the other side of our apartment where the kids wouldn’t be able to hear us. I wasn’t going to allow them to hear everything I went through as a child, hurtful words and harsh whispering.
Jace stood there in the kitchen, staring at the wall, his palms pressed against the red-painted surface. After a moment, he shook his head from left to right before dropping it forward. Hanging it between his shoulders, he sighed.
“What do you take me for, Aubrey, a fool?”
“No.” I couldn’t understand what he was talking about, but I assumed he was back to Ridley. He was all over the place.
“I saw you.” He couldn’t even look at me, but his expression, the one given to the wall, showed his frustration, the one that was broken, bare, and vulnerable to the words that could destroy him.
“Did you see me slap him?”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“After you left and broke my window.” He had to have sensed the harshness of my tone. “I slapped him.”
The very thought of Ridley kissing me, and what Jace must have been feeling in that moment, made me feel sick. Would I react the way he was acting right now if I’d seen him kiss someone else?
Yes. I probably would.
He sighed, his darkened eyes meeting mine. “Did you want him to kiss you?”
His eyes burned into mine, waiting for me to answer him.
Looking away, I said, “No. I would never want that.”
He was silent for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest, his head hanging and eyes on the floor.
“Is that all this is about? You . . . why can’t you see that our problems are so much more than this?”
He said nothing.
“This has nothing to do with Ridley. I’m so tired of having this same argument with you.”
“Then stop having it,” he said, as if it was that easy for me to let go of this.
“You would say that.” I could feel the curiosity burning behind my words, but it wasn’t enough. The anger set them on fire. Their flames enveloped him, suffocated his words, and scorched my nerves.
“Yeah, I would, because you’re putting all this shit on me.”
“So you’re perfect? You’ve done nothing wrong here?”
“I didn’t say that.” He shook his head again, his eyes on the floor, as if I didn’t deserve their depth right now. “But you expect me to be perfect. Be that guy you’ve never had. Rescue you.”
“I’m so tired of this shit.” I shifted my stance, my hands thrown up in the air.
“You and me both, honey.” The bitter laugh returned when he looked up at me.
I found my voice. “Whatever you say, Jace.”
When there was nothing left to give, and even less to take, we were left with this. A fire with no means of egress.
I was just opening the door to the apartment, intending on getting air, when Jace caught it. His hand, up near the top, slammed it closed with little effort. “You don’t say shit like that and walk away.”
“Shit like what?” I had to smile. Every time we argued about anything we came back to this same argument and these same reactions. “Jace, not being here . . . and walking away . . . are essentially the same thing.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Shut the fucking door right now, Aubrey, and talk to me!” he roared.
I did as he said, afraid of what would happen if I didn’t listen to him. “Keep. Your. Voice. Down.” I said again. The last thing I wanted was my kids hearing this. Too many times growing up all I heard was arguments. And the burden it left me with was something I still struggled with.
And yet here I was, doing the very same thing I said I wouldn’t do.
When I turned back to Jace, his eyes said a lot.
I wanted the anger. I didn’t want the soft
click
of a gently shut door. I wanted the motherfucker slammed. I wanted the emotions that showed me he was angry. I didn’t want the ones I’d been dealt now, as they showed no effort. It meant he was done.
Whenever one of my mother’s relationships ended, the men usually left peacefully, all the emotion and anger gone. That was how I knew it was over.
“Fuck, Aubrey!” He started pacing the entryway, which wasn’t very big. It made him look like he was spinning in circles. At least it did to me, but I had also been drinking, thanks to Shanna on the way home.
“I have to go. I need some air.”
“No, you don’t.” He shook his head, his foot against the door now, along with his hand. “You’ve been drinking, and I’m not about to go scrape you off the road when you wreck.”
“Well,” My posture straightened, and I reached for the door again. “You’re not working tonight. I’m sure one of your boys will call if they find me.”
His all-too-cold eyes shifted from the floor to me. He wasn’t pacing anymore. Hell, I couldn’t even tell if he was breathing at all, with how still he’d become. “Damn it. Why do you do this? Just talk to me.”
“Talk to you? Are you serious right now?” Those same too-cold eyes gave me nothing. “I do this because it doesn’t matter if I talk to you. You hear nothing I say unless it’s what you want me to say. I’ve asked you to talk to me. And I get nothing.”
He gave me that nod, the one he gave when he was so angry he couldn’t speak. A derisive smile lifted his lips.
“You’re missing the point, Aubrey. You’re looking at me like I should have the answer for you.”
“And you don’t?”
“No.” He shook his head, remorseful almost. “Never have.”
“What is this really about?”
He only offered a shrug, as if that was all he’d allow me to see. It only made me angry. I was at the point where if I saw him shrug one more time, I would throat-punch him. Then he’d have a reason to shrug. “I think you know.”
“No, I don’t.” Have you ever had an argument so often about the same shit that your responses almost seemed programmed, even your anger? As if with one button, something is said and it activates the anger at the same time as the last argument? “When did we become this?” My words were strained, just like our relationship, to the point where it wouldn’t take much and there’d be nothing left of the thin thread I was holding onto.
“About the time you let it.” Jace knew what he was doing.
What the fuck?
“What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes stayed on mine.
“And that is?”
He smiled but turned away, a bitter laugh escaping his gently parted lips. “I think
you
know.”
Go ahead. Shrug, asshole.
I hated the sound of his bitter laugh. I fucking hated it because he knew how to get to me, always having the upper hand and in control even when he was so clearly not.
“Why don’t you enlighten me, then . . . when was it?”
His stomach pulled in, a long deep breath as if to calm himself a little. His next words brought so much anger I wanted to hit him for saying something so hurtful. “About the same time you started questioning my intentions. About the time you started acting like your mother.”
I looked up at him, breathing in and out as controlled as I could. My words were whispered, secondhand thoughts I’d never intended to speak. “You’re an asshole!”
I turned and walked away from him.
Jace threw the glass in his hand against the wall, and suddenly there we were, shouting and pointing, placing blame because it was never easy taking it. “I’m the fucking asshole? Me?” his words came out in a growl. “That’s right, Aubrey. It’s always me and never a goddamn thing you might have done!”
We weren’t these people. We weren’t. I didn’t say things like this, and he didn’t react this way. Love and fire can make you do some pretty stupid shit sometimes.
Those words, those simple words were his spark. It was like he was burning inside, black billowing smoke through broken windows, and if I were to reach out and touch those flames, the fire would spread. And if I touched, could it ever be controlled?
So I didn’t touch. For tonight, I didn’t certainly
didn’t
touch.
And then he calmed slightly, his breathing still harsh, but he’d recovered from throwing the glass. “Are you thinking of leaving me?”
What?
I wasn’t expecting that at all.
“Have you thought about leaving?” I asked without answering his question.
Jace spoke through gritted teeth. “Never.” He looked right at me. “Why?” He was angry with me and I could hear it in his voice, if not in his eyes.
It’s the words you never say that mean the most. The ones on the tip of your tongue, screamed at the top of your lungs, that sometimes need to be said.
He tipped his head to one side, his hands clasped together in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees.
“Aubrey, do you trust me?” Jace asked, his blue eyes intensely staring at me.
I couldn’t manage any words because I had no air supply, but I nodded.
When we finally did look at each other, no words were spoken because none were needed. With one look he said all he needed to say.
I looked up at him again. The moment was gone, but his eyes were anxious. He wasn’t sure what I was going to say next, and it scared him. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the depth his blues showed me was full of anger and pain. Exactly what I had caused him.
Too bad he couldn’t see what he’d caused me. Did he know what it was like to be in a relationship with him when every day I wonder if he’ll be home safe, just to save someone else?
What about me? What about his kids? Aren’t we worth saving?
“Don’t do that to me, Aubrey.” His eyes flashed with frustration, and anger took over again. “Don’t make me feel paranoid.”
“I didn’t. You’re doing that on your own.”
I was so lost. He was moving from one thing to the next, but never what we needed to be talking about.
“No. You did. You put doubt in my head when I walked into that shop tonight.”
“No, I think it was there long before that.”
He’s lying if this is the first time he’s doubted me.
“Maybe it was.”
Finally some truth.
“You’re waiting for me to be just like her, aren’t you?”
No answer. Apparently that question didn’t warrant one.
“Do you know why he’s here?” His brow went up. He was searching for clarification I didn’t have. “Have you thought about that? Do you know why your mother is really here?”
“I have. She probably wants money. Ridley’s just here to get a rise out of me,” I said. “I’m sure he got what he wanted.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” he whispered, his voice softer. “I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust your fucking mother. What if you’re wrong? What if they want something else, then what?”
With his words, the way Ridley asked about my mom so often got me thinking. Jace always had a way of looking at things from an angle others didn’t. I believe that was what made him such a good firefighter. He was looking for the catch. Always.
“I never said I trusted either one of them.”
“They why won’t you listen to me?” He moved toward me, coming to stand in front of me.
“I am listening. I’m right here. I . . . ” There was so much more I wanted to say right then, but I felt like the moment had passed.
When I didn’t say anything, his hands found my face, his hair falling into his lashes. As I looked at him, searching his face, I wished I could get inside his mind, feel what he was feeling for one moment. My heart was breaking, and if I looked close enough, it seemed his was, too. I wanted to know.
“I’m not one of those guys who will murder a man for touching what I thought was mine.” He brushed his fingertips over my lips, lips that had just been kissed by another. “But I hope what I
thought
was mine knows I won’t go down without a fight.”
“He won’t do anything stupid. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
“Well.” His face was suddenly dark. “If he hurts you, pray for him, because I’ll kill the motherfucker if he tries.” And I swear his voice shook with each word, but I couldn’t be sure, as I couldn’t even look at him now.
Breathing deep, he let his hands drop.
“It would kill me if you left,” he said quietly, as if I weren’t meant to hear those particular chosen words. But I did. He’d said them.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He looked completely worn out, with dark circles under his eyes. He was tired. Mostly tired of this, I thought.
I could barely look at him. And when I did, I wasn’t met with the look I was expecting.
A broken heart.
“I’m still standing here. I haven’t left, but you’re acting like I have. You’re over it before it’s even over.” In his anger, he was shouting now, his face hard. “This isn’t all on me.”
He’s just being honest
, I told myself that, but the words still hurt, inflicting more hurt than he probably intended them to. And I couldn’t help myself when I said, “I’ve done nothing but try.”
He swallowed heavily.
He licked his bottom lip, his gaze on the wall and not me. Maybe to get in the last word, he then whispered, “Don’t ever question my love for you. Ever.” He stared at me, appearing casual now, his eyes moving over my features, watching my reaction.
How does this happen?
How does a love so deep turn to this, one of resentful harsh words spat at one another? Why is it that in a room where we once shared laughter and breathy moans, it’s now one of cold sheets and a space so big it feels like separate beds?
How do you go from pleading hands on his chest, spitting hateful remarks, to this, stone silent and ignoring one another?
If you could, would you change it? Would you go back and take back what you’d said?