Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
She resumed her futile struggle with the ring, more determined than ever to return it to him.
His hand clamped around her right wrist to halt the movement.
“Stop that,” he admonished. “I don’t want it back.”
“But—”
“Kenna, I can’t stand the sight of it.” His voice was low and vehement and filled with enough venom to halt her in her tracks. He was frowning down at the ring, lips downturned, brow furrowed, eyes roiling with intense emotion.
Kenny’s fingers curled into a fist and she dragged her left hand to her chest and held it there, with the ring turned toward her in an unconsciously protective gesture. She pulled her other hand from his grip and covered her left with it, hiding it from his sight.
“All I see when I look at it is failure.” Those burning, angry eyes leaped to hers. “And our marriage in shreds around our feet.”
“Hi again, so sorry for the wait.” The unexpected intrusion of Suzie’s cheerful voice into the fraught moment was jarring.
The woman hesitated when she picked up on their tension and her smile dimmed somewhat.
“Um…” She lowered a couple of plates to the table in front of them. “Two croque monsieurs.”
She quietly and efficiently arranged their cutlery and condiments on the table.
“I’ll be back in a second with your coffee,” she told Smith. “Would you like another cappuccino?”
The last was directed at Kenny, who shook her head, unable to summon up even so much as a smile.
Smith and Kenny waited in awkward silence until the woman returned with the coffee, along with a pretty ceramic milk jug and a tiny, ornamental jar of sugar cubes.
“Enjoy,” Suzie invited, scurrying away with indecent haste.
Kenny and Smith stared at their identical orders. It was unsurprising, really. They’d always had similar culinary tastes.
“Looks amazing,” she said, even though her appetite had fled completely.
Smith made a sound of assent and lifted his knife and fork. They ate silently, the joy gone from the experience and the morning for Kenny. All she wanted right now was for this to be over.
The croque monsieur was delicious, the best she’d ever tasted. A shame Kenny was unable to appreciate it.
She managed less than half before pushing the plate aside.
Smith frowned at the gesture and pointed at her plate with his fork.
“Eat.”
“I’m full.”
“You barely touched that.”
“Why did you sit down with me?” she asked and he swallowed the bite in his mouth, washing it down with a sip of coffee before resting his elbows on the table and folding one fist over the other.
“Because it would have been petty to pretend I didn’t see you.”
“And yet, we both would probably have enjoyed our breakfast more,” she retorted.
His shoulders shifted and he made a gruff sound that could’ve been denial or assent.
“I’m tired,” she told him and his eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you? We keep having the same frustrating conversation. It just goes nowhere. In fact, I’m not even sure why we’re even talking about this all again when you’ve pretty much slammed the door on our marriage. There’s no point.”
“I’ve slammed the door?”
“I followed you Riversend to talk. You didn’t want to talk. You’d rather continue blaming me for everything that went wrong in our marriage. Repeatedly. I get the point. We’re done. Over. I surrender.
“Now I’d like to take some time to rest and recuperate before heading back.
I was minding my own business, sitting here waiting for my breakfast. I didn’t ask for you to plant your arse at my table only to rehash more of the same shit again.
” She held up both hands, palms up. “Can we just stop? Please? I’m so exhausted. ”
He watched her, conflicting emotions parading across his face—confusion, concern, anger, resentment, sympathy, to name a few—before he ruthlessly shuttered them. Nothing but a blank mask was left in their place.
He nodded rigidly and picked up his knife and fork again. He took another couple of bites and then sighed.
“You’re right,” he conceded, his voice burdened by regret and hopelessness. “I’ve allowed my feelings to cloud our interactions.”
“What feelings? You’re contradicting yourself, Smith. You can’t claim to feel nothing for me, then turn around and blame your emotions for your behavior.”
“I’m bound to have feelings about our broken marriage, Kenna, even if I have none for you.”
She winced and saw a flicker of regret in his eyes.
“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” he asked, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re right, this is…exhausting.”
The admission surprised her and some of the wind left her sails.
“Why don’t you talk me through those feelings you mentioned earlier? Help me understand. Please?”
He rubbed a tired hand over his face.
“I don’t like failing.”
“Neither do I.”
“Yes, everybody knows what a perfectionist you are, Kenna.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.” She should shut up. Let him speak. She’d asked him to talk. It would behoove her to listen.
“It is when your fear of failure inhibits you to such an extent that you’re not even willing to try. You may be used to succeeding, Kenna, but that’s because you don’t take risks. You only attempt the things you know you’ll be good at.
“You expected our marriage to fail, that’s why you resisted the idea from the very beginning.
And then when you agreed to go through with it, before you even gave us a chance to make a proper go of it, you’d already relegated it to your nearly empty loss column.
Because failing when you weren’t trying means that you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that you knew all along that it wouldn’t work out.
That still makes it almost a win, right? ”
The wholly accurate read of her thought process had Kenny reeling for a moment. It was a ruthless indictment of her character, but she couldn’t fault the logic.
And she’d been so damned deluded at the time that she hadn’t even realized what she was doing. Sabotaging herself and her marriage, all because of her pathological fear of failure.
“The most fucked-up thing?” he continued. “I could see it happening. And I just fucking allowed it. Allowed you to ruin something that could have been…”
His lips compressed and he shook his head in self-disgust. “See, Kenna? That’s what truly pisses me off.
My own inability to prevent the train wreck I knew was coming.
And now every time I see you, my anger at myself—and at you—is always on the verge of boiling over.
And Christ knows, I don’t want to be that guy.
But I can’t seem to help myself right now.
“I came to this town to work through everything. The anger, resentment, guilt, frustration, bitterness…I could continue, but I’m sure you get the point.
I’m trying to get a handle on those negative emotions, y’know?
But knowing that you’re here? That hasn’t been too great for the whole—what do they call it? —healing process.”
“I understand.” Kenny tamped down the urge to apologize. He’d already made it clear that he had no desire for her apologies or regrets.
What’s done was done.
Smith was in the process of moving on and she had to come to terms with that.
But Kenny would be here for the next few weeks at least, and Smith was going to have to find a way to deal with his negative emotions on the—hopefully—rare occasions that they ran into each other.
Kenny simply couldn’t continue being his whipping girl. It only made both of them feel terrible.
“This is why we should share our schedules,” she whispered. “To minimize the possibility of chance encounters such as these.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“By communicating, Smith.”
She kept her voice steady. Patient.
“We haven’t done too well in the communication department before now, McKenna.” His pointed reminder was delivered in an almost gentle voice, removing some of the sting.
The rare usage of her full name sent a little shaft of warmth through her. She’d always enjoyed the sound of it on his lips.
He’d only ever used it when he’d been teasing and affectionate. And never after their marriage.
The quick flare of regret in his expression told her that he’d just recognized that fact as well. He gave a tiny, involuntary shake of his head, as if he was silently castigating himself, and shut his eyes for a few brief seconds before meeting her gaze again.
His face had been wiped of any hint of warmth. “So…communication?”
Kenny ignored the all-too-familiar pang of loss in the vicinity of her already battered heart and nodded. “Yes, we’ll inform each other of our plans every morning.”
“Not your strong suit.”
He grimaced at her reproachful glare.
“We’ve already established that I was a terrible wife.
So could you maybe ease off on the petty barbs?
I’ll be here for a month, more or less. After that you’ll be rid of me for good.
” His eyes flickered with something indecipherable and she paused, but it was gone in seconds to be replaced by so much nothingness.
She swallowed down her disappointment and continued. “Despite our best efforts, we’re still going to run in to each other. So could we please just try to be civil?”
His nod was curt, restrained. He palmed his coffee cup and lifted it for a quick sip.
“Communication. Civility,” he itemized after putting the cup down. “Got it. Anything else?”
Now it was her turn to frown as she considered his question.
“I can’t think of anything.”
His entire demeanor seemed to thaw. The grim set of his mouth relaxed into a near smile.
Smith wasn’t like her father. Or Cade. Or Nox. Or even like her.
While he was becoming increasingly adept at hiding himself from her, all of the coldness and hostility was contrary to his character.
“You just had to fracture your toe and take your overdue break in the smallest town on the planet, didn’t you?” Despite the words, there was something akin to affection in his voice.
One might even imagine he was inviting her to laugh along with him.