Weston (Broken Falls #6)

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Weston

W e're sitting across from one another in the most awkward of silences. She eats the meal I prepared for her while I just sit there, playing with mine because I'm not hungry. What we've become is a shell of who we were, but I guess that's to be expected.

We haven't been around each other in eight years. There's a lot of growth in that amount of time. I'm assuming the two of us are who we were back then, and that's just not the case.

Back when we first started dating in high school, we would talk about anything. There were never any quiet moments or awkward silences between us. We would imagine what our lives were going to be like once we graduated and got married. Everyone thought that the getting married part would come when we were twenty or twenty-one. No one knew we would get married right after graduating, but I had known. I knew I wanted her with me forever and was willing to commit the rest of my life to it. I thought she was too.

"This is really good," she says as she cuts into the grilled chicken I've made. "I remember when you couldn't even make a grilled cheese sandwich."

I can't help the grin that comes to my face as I think about the time I made her that sandwich. "Yeah," I say, sitting back in my chair, letting the fork and knife drop from my fingers. "It's been a long time since I set the smoke detector off like I did in that tiny apartment we lived in. Unfortunately, those were my learning days. You didn't get to see what I grew into."

We're quiet again as we stare at one another. I want the full story, but it might take her a while to tell it. She'll have to build up trust in me again, just like I'll have to build up trust in her. The biggest question I have is why? Why did she feel as if she couldn't come to me with whatever was bothering her? What was it that made her give up everything the two of us had dreamed of?

"So, when did you buy this house?" She questions, taking another bite of her chicken and forking it with some broccoli.

I finish chewing my bite, thinking about how much I want to tell her about my life. These days, I don't offer it freely, not like I did back then. Her leaving made me much more of a loaner. I don't make small talk about myself, but truthfully, she's still my wife and if something were to happen to me? She's my next of kin. As much as it kills me because she hasn't been here, maybe she does deserve some answers. Maybe if I'm asking her to be truthful with me, I need to start by doing the same with her. "I moved out here four years ago," I reply after pushing away my plate and folding my arms on the table, taking a long pull off my beer.

She raises her eyebrows, cheeks pinking up. If I'm not mistaken, I see some pride shining brightly in her eyes. "You've done really well for yourself, Weston. There's no way I could have afforded a house four years ago."

I shoot her a glance, my brain going hundreds of miles a minute. "If you would've stuck with me, you would have, but then again after you left, I worked a lot of overtime and saved a lot of money because I didn't have any desire to spend it on anything else. So when this place came up for sale, I bought it almost outright. Make no mistake, it was a piece of shit. It needed a lot of work. I've spent the last couple of years fixing it up to my needs and what I wanted, wondering what would happen if you came back or if I was finally served with divorce papers."

There it is, out in the open. Why didn't she ever file for divorce? Did she mean to keep me wondering for the last eight years?

She takes a small drink from her glass. "So you built this for your next family."

Her voice conveys hurt, and it pisses me off because I'm the one who's been hurt these last few years. I'm the one who got left behind. It doesn't help anything if I'm rude to her, but at this point, I've got so much anger built up there's no way for me not to be, and I hate that because it's not who I am, but I have to answer her. "Well, it would have been for you if you would've stayed, but I'm not getting any younger, and I didn't want to spend the rest of my life alone. So yeah, if the opportunity presented itself, it was for another woman and whatever family we might have. I've never lied about the fact that I want a family, that I want someone to share my life with. You knew that that's why we got married."

"I did know that," she affirms, "but you also knew that I wanted to go to college. I wanted to finish college before we started our family, but you were so set against it. It made me feel like I had no choice in the matter."

Narrowing my eyes and eyebrows, I look over at her. This is the biggest load of bullshit. We'd discussed all of it, but if it came down to it, I would've gone with what she wanted. Knocking my knuckles on the wood, I pin her with a glare. "So that's why you fucking left? Because I wanted you to have a kid early? You didn't even stick around to talk about it? Like, what the fuck? We could always talk about anything. You knew my wishes; I knew yours. It wasn't like I was trying to force you to do something you didn't want to do! That's bullshit, Mel, fucking bullshit."

She's uncomfortable; I can tell by the way her shoulders hunch over. Maybe I've called her out on something, although fuck knows what, because I still have no idea why she left.

"You didn't understand, Weston," she whispers. "Everyone was putting their own ideas of what marriage and life should be like, and I didn't know if I could handle it."

Slapping my hand against the table, frustration boils over inside me. "No one knew we were fucking married, Mel. No one knew. They were talking in what ifs? We weren't going to tell anybody until we were ready! So where did you get this idea that people were pressuring you with your marriage? Because we were married for three days! It wasn't me."

The tension between us is super thick; this isn't at all what I'd imagined it would be like when she came back. If she came back. The walls of the kitchen are closing in on me, and I desperately need to get out.

"I don't know about you," I say, standing up abruptly, "but I'm sick of being inside." My voice is firm as steel now, unbending yet tired from all these years of carrying unspoken words within my chest. "I'm going out to the fire pit, it’s where I've spent most nights since you've been gone." Taking one last look at her before making my exit towards freedom outside these confining walls filled with memories both sweet yet now bitterly painful. "If you want, come along, I won't stop ya, but let’s get this straight right now: we're not talking about you leaving anymore tonight. I can't take the accusation that I had something to do with it." My tone leaves no room for argument or further discussion tonight, even though I want the raw truth laid bare between us like old wounds reopened again, I can't do it.

And without waiting for an answer from Mel, I grab the coat hanging near the door, and head out towards the fire pit where solace awaits amidst flickering flames under the starlit sky above.