Eleven
Luckily, there were no more unsavoury incidents with Nixon’s family for a few weeks, but that loneliness I felt due to him working so many hours, didn’t fade.
Nixon, Mason, and several other farmhands had managed to contain the disease. Unfortunately, they had to dispose of over half the herd which brought with it a significant loss financially. Nixon had explained that they were now expecting a delivery of some new cattle to make up for the ones they had lost. The vet had given the all-clear. So, things were moving forward, but I still didn’t see Nixon for most of the day.
When I questioned how hard he was working, he explained that he wanted to get things straight before he left to serve his notice period at Marham. Mitchell could no longer run things and Mason was still young and inexperienced. They were also short-staffed and were struggling to fill two farmhand positions.
I spent most of my days either cooking, cleaning, feeding the pigs, reading or online, looking at various college courses. After much thought and a brief discussion with Nixon, I eventually applied to a college in Norwich. It only took around a week before I found out that I had been accepted. I’d chosen an accountancy course and it was due to start in September. Knowing I was going to college was exciting and it gave me something to look forward to during my quieter times at the house.
Nixon pointed out that I didn’t have to work and I knew that, but I wanted to do something with my life. I wasn’t one of those people who could just settle for being a housewife and I was gradually getting fed up with both our farms. I wanted to have a career where I could get dressed up and go out to work; and be able to call myself a professional. Earn my own money. Be proud of myself and my achievements .
When I got my acceptance letter, I told Nixon about it one night over supper and he was totally supportive. He understood my need to do something for myself and was proud of that decision. Thankfully, he wasn’t totally from the Dark Ages.
Having been so engrossed in my application and attempting to cement myself into the McKenna family, I hadn’t seen my sisters or mother for a while, it was like a wedge had appeared.
I missed that girly banter; everything was so manly at Nixon’s. I also hadn’t spoken to my father or Mattie in weeks. Not even via text message. It was almost like a distance had developed between me and my family and it was adding to that loneliness I had started to suffer from.
After spending another afternoon hiding away in Nixon’s room with a lunch tray, I decided to go downstairs to stretch my legs. Maybe I could sit in the living room and read my book. I needed a change of scenery. Those four walls had started to send me bonkers.
Taking the tray downstairs, I washed my pots and everyone else’s in the kitchen sink and then padded over to the living room. Unfortunately, it wasn’t empty. The boys were discussing their next fight. Mason and Boyd thoroughly enjoyed being in the ring. They got off on it, it set them on fire. I hated violence and after witnessing Nixon’s last fight and the damage to his face, I had begged him to stop.
That had been a difficult conversation which had resulted in an argument. One that was more heated than the usual bought of bickering. Yes, Nixon and I were in a strong, loving relationship but we still fell out from time to time. We were a normal couple, with the usual ups and downs.
Seeing how upset it made me, Nixon eventually promised that he would only referee and wouldn’t accept any more challenges. He remained unbeaten at the end of the day so it wasn’t like he needed to fight to snatch back his crown .
Mason and Boyd were deeply engrossed in conversation, so I left them to it and headed back into the hallway where the stairs were.
The house had a similar layout to my parent’s house. There was a grand set of wooden stairs which swept upwards from the centre of the hallway and then branched off into two directions in a T shape. The room was large with cream-painted walls and was decorated with a variety of pictures. Mr and Mrs McKenna had paintings that I assumed were created by local artists. Each image was of somewhere pretty in the Norfolk countryside. The hallway was also where the two large main double doors into the property were situated, although there was access into the house via several other areas. The floor was made up of black and white tiles and it was so well polished you could see part of your reflection in it. Most farmhouses in our village adopted a similar layout. This one was just much newer and shinier than most.
That annoying voice I knew so well, suddenly sounded behind me and my shoulders sagged, “So, Jenna Taylor-Joy, what are you up to? Causing more trouble?” I didn’t correct him as I knew he said my maiden name on purpose. Boyd was struggling to accept I was a McKenna now. I was surprised by how light and carefree his voice sounded.
Anxiety leapt in my chest and I turned towards that starchy noise, my body braced for an attack. Boyd was walking towards me with that lazy boy swagger of his. He was so cocksure, arrogant beyond belief.
“Nothing really, I was going to read, but I didn’t want to interrupt your discussion about your next fight.”
“Ah yes, our next fight. Without our champion, who now sits on the sidelines like a bitch,” my brother-in-law jeered.
“Yes, a wise decision in my opinion,” I declared, stubbornly sticking my chin out.
Boyd snorted, “It wasn’t his fucking decision. That’s on you. What did you threaten if he didn’t quit? No access to that tight little body I imagine. ”
I grimaced, “It wasn’t like that.”
“Whatever. That’s the only thing you’ve got going for you,” he stated with the look of a know it all. He was so insulting.
“Considering you’re such a timid little thing, you certainly have Nixon in the palm of your hand. Banning him from fighting, who would have thought it.”
I folded my arms over my chest and arched an eyebrow, “That’s right. It’s a revolting sport. Not to mention dangerous,” I pointed out in an impressively firm voice. I’d show this boy he couldn’t intimidate me.
He stopped a yard in front of me, in touching distance. Tension gripped my body. I wished he was a safer distance away. I could smell that aftershave he wore, it was quite potent and not in a good way.
Boyd choked out a sinister sound, “Dangerous how?”
I weighed up those words before I explained the obvious, “Well, someone could get hurt.”
His brow threaded, “That’s the fucking point,” he snarled, looking at me like I was stupid. “No pain, no gain sweetheart.”
“Punching each other in the face to blow off steam is absurd. There are safer and more enjoyable ways to do that.”
I wished I could haul those provocative words back as Boyd blatantly chose to take them as sexually suggestive.
As was my luck when dealing with the pervert who stood before me, Boyd drawled, “Oh really. And what would those be?” His grin was filthy. Those greedy dark eyes roaming over my body. “I must admit, I’d quit the club if I got to blow off steam with you. There is nothing better to restore one's equilibrium, than rough, aggressive sex.”
I forced myself to smile, ignoring his smutty comment, “Bottom line Boyd. I don’t want my husband to be at risk of injury. ”
He released a full-on belly laugh at that one, throwing his head back. His neck was thick with muscle and my eyes lingered on that strength. I wondered what it would feel like to wrap my hands around that area and squeeze.
It took him a couple of beats to recover, “Oh my God, you have no idea. The only person in the ring at risk when they face Nixon is the fucking opposition.”
“I don’t care. I don’t like it, end of,” I stated, unfolding my arms, and dropping them to my sides.
Boyd’s head lowered and his gaze dipped to my breasts. It made me want to cross my arms again, I suddenly felt exposed.
He shook his head, “It appears you have my brother totally pussy-whipped,” Boyd said, shifting on the spot with an animal-like grace. I suddenly felt like a rabbit, trapped before a species that was about to eat it. The soft calmness of his voice was completely at odds with the harsh look on his face.
Thankfully he raised his eyes to mine and that was the first time I saw it. Flagrant desire, need . Boyd was attracted to me. Massively so. I could see it in that hungry gaze of his. I also identified a hint of sadness. He was looking at me like I was the one who got away. And maybe that was the case? That would certainly explain his behaviour.
My heart started to pound in my chest as I remained where I was and didn’t back down. Was he jealous of his brother? Is that why he was so mean to me? That typical cliché when a boy likes a girl at school and he pushes her to the floor or pulls her hair?
Boyd licked his lips, a lustful expression now clouding that honesty, “You could probably bring any man to his knees. You really are sex on legs; so fuckable with the face of an angel and the body of a porn star. But doesn’t it bother you that that’s all it is for Nixon?”
“What? ”
“The reason he married you. Sex-on-tap with the village fitty. He’s so smug that he landed the one piece of arse all the boys were after,” he replied, his lip curling. Did he include himself in that list, probably?
I sighed, folding my arms again. There was now only a small space between my slight body and his big beefy one. I felt crowded, even in the large hallway.
“You’re wrong. There is more to Nixon and me. We have a connection, we love each other.”
He scoffed and loomed closer. Boyd wasn’t as big or broad as Nixon but he wasn’t far off. I traced my eyes over him briefly. For someone so vulgar and rough, he was always impeccably dressed; more well-groomed than any of the others. Nothing was ever out of place. His manner was still disgusting though. He was crude, he necked milk from the fridge and then put the carton back in there, never washed up after himself and left the toilet seat up. I let him off with the latter as all the boys seemed to do that.
“Obsession isn’t love Jenna.”
His words snapped my thoughts back, “You know nothing about my relationship with Nixon,” I huffed, licking my lips which were suddenly quite dry.
“I know more than you think. You were a challenge and he won you over. You’re nothing but a fucking trophy girlfriend. He’s considered one of the luckiest bastards in the village having managed to bag you,” he informed me, in a matter-of-fact voice like that was totally the case. I was really starting to hate this boy.
“I’m his wife now,” I pointed out.
“Fucking trophy wife then, same thing.”
A frown slowly crept across my forehead, “I’m sorry Boyd, but I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t think you do either. That’s fighting for you. Knocks your brain cells about. Your talk of trophies and obsession makes no sense to me at all.” I knew what he was getting at but I refused to give in .
Boyd snorted and folded his large, muscular arms across his chest, staring down at me with an insane amount of disgust. His level of dislike, considering he’d just undressed me with his eyes, felt misplaced somehow, “Do you even know what a trophy girlfriend—sorry, wife is?”
Dropping my arms, I shrugged my narrow shoulders, sweeping a brief glance behind him for any sign of the cavalry. My hopeful saviour non-other than Mason, “Not really.” My voice was remarkably unaffected, considering the crazy going off inside me. This boy pushed my buttons. I just wasn’t used to dealing with such a high level of ill feeling.
He titled his head to one side as his eyes searched my face, “So you’re beautiful but not that bright.”
I didn’t take the insult to heart as I could understand why he was being rude. He wanted me but couldn’t have me. That would have been frustrating having to see me every day. A look but don’t touch scenario.
“Look, I know you don’t want me here, but you could at least try to be nice,” I sighed remorsefully.
Boyd straightened his head and rolled his eyes, “You’re right, I don’t want you here. I also don’t want you anywhere near my brother and FYI, nice and I don’t share the same fucking planet, precious .” He uncurled his arms and took a step toward me, forcing me to retreat. He was now too close, right up in my personal space.
An awkward quiet fell into that small space that separated us. As I backed away and he advanced, I became wedged against the bottom post of the banister of the stairs. I probably could have just turned and gone up to Nixon’s room, but my feet were rooted to the spot.
I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my body. His eyes narrowed at the motion.
“What’s wrong? You scared little girl?” Boyd whispered with a smirk, taking another soundless step toward me. I turned my head to the side and stared at the floor. I couldn’t deal with those unfathomable eyes of his that seemed to be drilling into my skin. A twinge of fear filtered into my system. He was so unpredictable and at that moment, I didn’t know what he was capable of.
“Don’t touch me,” I said.
He leaned back, his eyes assessing my terrified expression, “What the fuck, chill out. I’m not going to hurt you. What the fuck do you take me for?”
I closed my eyes briefly, stating, “I don’t take you for anything, Boyd. I don’t know you, not really.”
“Yes, but you know Nixon. Can you imagine what he would do to me if I touched his prized possession?”
“I just want to go upstairs,” I said, turning back to face him and opening my eyes.
He scowled, “I’m just fucking with you so stop shivering,” he blazed down at me. Suddenly insulted that I’d thought the worst.
“I’m not scared of you Boyd. I’m just cold,” I replied in a shaky voice, drawing my gaze back.
He arched an eyebrow, his eyes dipping as he moved his mouth to the cuff of my ear, “Cold? Not from what I’ve heard,” Boyd said under his breath but I didn’t miss it.
“Excuse me?” I shot back, my brows nipped together.
He ignored me and ran one of his fingers down the bare skin of my arm, “I’ve heard you and Nixon together remember. There’s nothing cold about that response. But if you’re chilly right now. I could warm you up, baby. What do you say?” My stomach fluttered like a cave of airborne bats but I kept eye contact as he lifted his head.
“I bet you taste really sweet.” His eyes were heavy with desire now, it was almost like he couldn’t help himself and he’d forgotten who we were. He was supposed to be my brother-in-law .
The air crackled with tension as Boyd ran a finger across my collarbone, “If you don’t leave me alone, Nixon will—” I started to say but was cut off.
“—break your fucking fingers if you don’t move your hand,” The thunderous noise came from the kitchen doorway. Nixon!
I jerked my gaze over Boyd’s shoulder to where my husband stood, like a tower of strength. His eyes glittered and the tension in his body was palpable. He posed an imminent threat and I felt a sense of doom. No one could steal the air from the room like Nixon could.
The thought of being the catalyst behind any fallout between the brothers had me sliding out and around Boyd and scurrying toward Nixon with a feigned smile. As I glanced back, Boyd had turned to face his brother. His body language suggested he couldn’t care less but his expression revealed he was spoiling for a fight. I was tossed back in time to that night I had witnessed Nixon in the ring. If I didn’t manage to fix this, things were going to get ugly and fast.
“It’s fine. Your brother was just educating me as to what a trophy girlfriend is,” I said, coming to stand at the side of Nixon, with Boyd now brooding before us. I shot him a glance; he didn’t even have the sense to look worried or even guilty. Not a smidge of regret lined his face. Part of me felt like telling Nixon that his brother had pretty much threatened me, but I wasn’t quite ready to throw him under the bus just yet. If I couldn’t forge some type of common ground with Nixon’s family, especially his brothers, my living there would continue to be a nightmare. This so wasn’t how I pictured my first few weeks as Nixon’s wife.
As I turned to look up at my husband, his eyes narrowed down into mine before he fully faced his brother. I mirrored his movement, my arms by my sides. I felt helpless.
Boyd leaned back against the banister post where he had trapped me only moments ago, a taunting expression on his face. Nixon took a step toward him but I placed a hand on his arm. His muscles automatically flexed at my touch, but he didn’t take any notice as he glared at his brother.
“And how would you define a trophy girlfriend little brother?” Nixon’s tone was threaded with steel. He’d obviously caught on that Boyd had meant me. Why on earth had I told him that?
Boyd gave his brother one of those shit-eating grins Amy spoke about and shrugged his broad shoulders, “We didn’t quite get to that part. I was about to suggest that Jenna just look in the mirror.”
Nixon shook off my hand and took another menacing step toward his brother, his body bristling with anger. “What did you say, you little prick?”
I moved between them and placed the flat of my hand against each of their chests to attempt to separate them as Boyd squared up against the pending threat.
“Well, Boyd, what the fuck are you talking about?” Nixon repeated, fury lining each word.
“Suck me off princess. You heard me,” Boyd shot out crossly at his brother. “Or better yet, join me in the ring and stop being a vagina.”
“Please, its fine. It was just a joke I’m sure,” I panted breathlessly.
“What the fuck are you two pussies doing,” another voice said. The tone identical to that of both brothers. Dropping my arms, I slid from between them and twisted around to see Mason coming from the living room. His expression was bland and he had an apple in one hand.
Relief pooled into me as Mason could realistically stop anything kicking off between the two men. Better than I could anyway. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to help though. His body language was too relaxed.
“Jenna and I were just talking and dickhead here decided to get territorial,” Boyd shot out over Nixon’s shoulder. Mason stopped and leaned against one of the walls, looking bored as he took a massive bite out of the apple .
“If you girls are going to dance, can I suggest you do it outside,” Mason said with his mouth full of fruit. By the word dance, I knew he meant fight. That thought sank like lead in my stomach.
Nixon then slammed Boyd back against the post with a hand on the flat of his chest, “You’re clearly fucked off because you aren’t getting any Boyd, so why don’t you go and get yourself off and stop interfering in business that has fuck all to do with you?” His voice was a growl.
Boyd had the audacity to smirk back with his arms raised in surrender, “Calm down old man, just saying what I see. As Mason suggested, why don’t we discuss it outside, man to man?” At those words, all three sets of eyes turned to look at me and it dawned, that Boyd was purposefully provoking Nixon to fight.
I swallowed, hard, “Please, don’t argue and don’t fight. It doesn’t matter, not really. I’d just like us to get on,” I pleaded, trying to make it right. The guys had now locked horns and were engaged in one of those big dick contests Amy talked about.
Boyd snorted rudely, “That’s what I’ve been saying, precious. I’ll get on with you any day.”
The air at that point crackled with temper, Nixon suddenly appearing larger than life and Mason had the sense to step forward, his apple forgotten, “Easy big guy. It’s not an even match, you have several pounds on the little fucker.”
Boyd didn’t agree, “Fuck off. I can take him. He may be big but he’s fucking slow and clumsy,” he boasted.
“It’s your funeral,” Mason volleyed back with a sigh.
“If we do this, brother . I won’t pull my punches,” Nixon growled, grabbing his brother’s T-shirt in both fists and drawing Boyd closer, getting in his face. I watched feeling desperate as Boyd then yanked out of Nixon’s hold and straightened his designer top.
“Fucking bring it.”
“Please Nixon, you promised,” I shot out, my voice quivering .
Dragging a hand across his face, my husband turned toward me, “Go upstairs, Jenna,” he commanded.
“But please, I don’t want—”
He wouldn’t listen, “Now! Do as you’re fucking told,” he bit out angrily.
He didn’t need to tell me a third time and I moved quickly past him and his prey .
That was the first time Nixon had spoken so harshly to me since we’d been married and I didn’t like it.
“Fuck me, she does as she’s told. What does she do if you tell her to bend over?” Boyd’s huff of air as he impacted a hard surface followed me as I made my escape up the stairs.
The sound of scuffling boots and grunts began and my eyes met Mason’s at the curve in the stairs. He stared up at me and rolled his eyes before taking another chunk out of the apple. He appeared totally relaxed again and I shook my head, giving him a help me look. Mason just shrugged and turned to follow the boys. It sounded like Nixon was ‘escorting’ his brother through the kitchen.
I got to Nixon’s room and a door banged loudly. I then sat on the bed and covered my ears. I knew they were fighting outside as shouting and bad language bled in through the open window. I could hear Boyd taunting his brother but it only lasted a short time. Bone against bone reverberated in the air and I felt sick.
Save me from rough, uncivilised mouthy men and I accepted what I’d already known for a while. I didn’t belong there.
After around five minutes of replaying my unfortunate run-in with Boyd in my head, I decided to take a shower. The water was refreshing as the jets poured over me, massaging my body. Once I had washed the ugly scene downstairs off my skin, I dried myself and dressed in fresh underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt .
Everything was now eerily quiet outside and so I imagined the boys had beaten each other to bloody pulps and were lying unconscious somewhere. I didn’t get an urge to go and find Nixon, I knew it was best to leave them to it.
The fact that I had caused the brothers to fight made me feel guilty. My being there appeared to be negatively impacting the family, like a slow cancer inching through the organs.
“Jenna,” Nixon suddenly said into the room as the door opened. I threw the hairbrush I had been using onto the dressing table, my eyes roaming over his body, checking for injury. I wasn’t overly worried, I knew Nixon could handle himself and they were brothers at the end of the day. They surely wouldn’t have killed each other.
He closed the door gently but his body was tense and I sucked in a breath as I noticed his T-shirt was ripped and his nose was red.
“You’re bleeding,” I pointed out with concern, my voice laced with regret. I felt responsible, he was injured because of me, almost like I was the one who had hurt him. I automatically wanted to pull him into my arms. It was like there was a magnetic force field that pulled us together when we were alone.
Nixon frowned before he placed a finger to his nose, pulling it away and assessing the spot of blood on the tip.
“I had to let the little twat get one in. It’s the brotherly thing to do,” Nixon informed me without a single qualm. He then went to the bathroom, grabbed a cloth, and jabbed at his nose. Not gently, the guy had no finesse when dealing with his own injuries.
I walked over and took the towel from him, rinsing it under the tap as he sat on top of the laundry hamper. I was surprised it didn’t bend with the bulk of his weight.
“You know Boyd doesn’t mean half of what he says don’t you?” Nixon said, watching me intently. It was odd that he was suddenly trying to make excuses for his brother’s behaviour after knocking seven bells out of him. It’s like he felt he needed to reset the balance somehow.
My nod was automatic and a lie. Boyd had meant every word, but who was I to bad mouth one brother to the other? If I told Nixon exactly what his brother had said to me since I’d lived there, it would make things so much worse.
No, I had to handle it myself. If I was to know any peace whilst living there, I needed to put things right and I had to do it sooner rather than later. That did not include me telling tales to Nixon about his brother.
Boyd had to have a good side, surely. If I could convince him of my love for Nixon, would he back off?
That was something I seriously doubted but I had to try.
*****
Over the next week, Boyd did settle down slightly which was a colossal relief. Nixon also started to finish on the farm earlier and we got to enjoy more quality time together. I was finally getting to enjoy my husband, but that didn’t last long. There was also the fact that he was due to go away again looming in the back of my mind.
Some nights we’d end up in the living room with his brothers playing Xbox or PS4 games. I would sit with them and join in, but I didn’t really feel part of anything. I so wanted Nixon and me to be by ourselves, but the boys were there all the time under our feet. It was like there was no escape.
Nixon had also started to act differently around me in front of his brothers, more the tough guy and less gentle. This happened immediately after the fight with Boyd, like his little brother's taunting had worked and he was determined to ensure that he still ruled the roost and answered to no one. Not even his wife.
Nixon’s last week before he was due to leave for the base in Marham arrived and he became strangely distant. Throwing himself into the preparations for his return to the army, albeit temporarily. He started to pack his kit and complete a variety of paperwork.
Luckily, I managed to fill my time. I saw Amy and even met up with Charles.
At his request, I met him at a café in the village one day in the week. Charles explained that my getting together with Nixon had messed with his head; he’d felt jealous and had started to misread his feelings. We had grown up together at the end of the day and so the bond between us was strong. But the connection wasn’t romantic, not for me anyway. As our conversation went on, I started to get warning bells that Charles wasn’t being one hundred percent honest, with me or himself, and I started to regret agreeing to meet him. He was quite touchy feely and considering I was now a married women, it didn’t feel right.
Losing his friendship was an unwelcomed thought, but how could I go on seeing him if he was in love with me. Wouldn’t that make it wrong ?
To make matters worse, I was given the third degree when I got back home. Nixon, who was in the process of folding a pair of army fatigues in our bedroom started to grill me unnecessarily, “Boyd said he saw you in the village with Charles,” he said, as I walked into the room and placed my bag on the dressing table. His tone immediately got my back up.
“Yes, that’s right,” I replied as I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him continue to fold clothes. A painful reminder that he was going away.
He dropped the garment he was holding into the open case and turned to look down at me. I noticed his eyes roamed over my body, scrutinising my outfit. I was wearing a nice dress but I hadn’t majorly dressed up or anything.
“Boyd said you looked cosy sitting there together,” my husband said, folding his arms over his chest. He was staring down his nose at me.
I rolled my eyes, “That’s rubbish. Boyd is just trying to cause trouble. Any anyway, you were right. Charles does feel something romantic. He tried to hide it but I could tell. But you have nothing to worry about as I don’t feel that way. Have never seen Charles like that.” I had decided honesty was the best approach.
“Are you going to stop seeing him,” Nixon said in a relatively calm voice.
My forehead scrunched, “Why would I do that?”
“You need to cut ties with him for a while. If he is in love with you and you keep seeing him, it sends mixed messages. It’s unfair on him.”
I almost laughed at that one. As if Nixon cared anything about Charles being treated unfairly.
Our discussion continued to follow the same pattern. I understood what Nixon was saying but I was annoyed that he was attempting to temporarily remove my friend from my life. Whilst he was away, I’d need support and not just from my family.
Nixon wouldn’t let it go and I gave in eventually and decided a break couldn’t hurt, but if Charles texted me, I would still reply. Keeping it friendly and civil. I told Nixon that but he wasn’t happy about it. He moodily shrugged those massive shoulders and continued to pack.
Even though it would only be for a short while, I knew I couldn’t stay at Nixon’s house by myself. The fact that he’d shopped me in for meeting Charles, proved that I still hadn’t gotten Boyd on-side. And who knew how he would be with me when Nixon wasn’t there to protect me?
Living at Nixon’s was not easy. I broached the subject a couple of times and even managed to mention that I felt like the boys thought I cramped their style and that they didn’t really want me living there with them. Especially on my own. Nixon wouldn’t hear it.
I had come back one evening from visiting my parents and caught Boyd getting a blowjob in the living room. Yes, the living room of all places. Next to one of my accountancy books. He’d just looked up and smiled at me as he held the back of the girl's head whilst she pleasured him. It had been disgusting and not something I had wanted to see .
I brought it up a few times but Nixon didn’t listen to my comments that his brothers didn’t want me there, “You have just as much right to be here as the rest of them. Don’t let them get to you. If they piss you off, come and tell me and I’ll have a word.”
I then pointed out how hard that would be when he wasn’t even going to be there. But as usual, my husband had an answer for everything, “Before you know it, I’ll be back. It won’t be long. I just have some loose ends to tie up and then I can walk away with my head held high.”
The night that Nixon informed me that his orders had come through and that he had to go back to Marham to complete his notice period in a matter of days was hard to swallow. Despair threaded itself around my heart and my stomach felt like it had been scooped out with a rusty spoon.
We discussed it in detail and I even asked if there was any chance that I could go with him. Nixon explained that it wasn’t allowed. You could almost taste the despair I felt. I had known it was coming, but it just seemed to have appeared out of the blue. And on what I considered to be one of my shittier days. Nixon’s entire mood that day, even at breakfast made more sense now. He didn’t want to go away again but he felt he had to, it was his duty and he wouldn’t turn his back on that.
After we had eaten dinner out in the village one evening, I raised the suggestion of going back to my parent's house whilst he was away. He didn’t like that. The question as to why that would be such a problem lingered in my brain but I shelved it. Nixon was tense in the car and our conversation was brief, his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tight and he kept his face forward. Staring out of the windshield, almost robotic. Still struggling with the fact that he was returning to work, I imagined.
When we got back to the farm, Nixon started sorting through his uniform and placing stuff in a pile. It was like he was already packing, rummaging through his wardrobe like I wasn’t even there. He’d zoned out halfway through dinner and now seemed to be somewhere else entirely. I decided to raise the subject of my parent’s house again. Surely, going there for a while wasn’t that big a deal.
“As I said, I could go home, whilst you’re away. I think I’d prefer that,” I suggested, eyeing his back. Nixon went stiff and turned on his knees.
I was sitting on the bed and he took me by surprise as he turned sharply, his face suddenly angry, “You are home,” he pointed out sternly.
I tossed him a look, “Well, I know but. I mean—I could move back to my old home—temporarily, whilst you’re away?” My voice was hopeful as part of me knew what was coming.
“No,” he stated in a flat voice and continued with his task. My temper flared.
“What do you mean no?” Annoyance started mounting at the speed with which he batted off my suggestion. Like he wasn’t even willing to discuss it.
Nixon looked beyond pissed off, “As in no, you’re not going back. You live here now with me and my family.”
His comment was pure caveman but this time, I didn’t like it. It was disconcerting.
“It would only be until you came home, you said you’ll only be gone a few weeks,” I said, moving around him so I could see his face.
He looked up from folding some trousers, his eyes drilling into mine.
“It doesn’t matter. I want you here, at home, in my bed.” He was being unreasonable.
I frowned, breaking eye contact, “But you won’t be in it, Nixon, I’ll be here alone,” I pointed out, confused as to why he was so against my suggestion. It was like he thought my going to my parent’s house was some type of step back for us.
“You won’t be alone. The boys are here and my parents are due back soon. I’ve given them all strict instructions that they’re to look after you,” he explained in a tone that suggested he’d thought of everything. He so hadn’t, but then how would he know that? I hadn’t said anything about the way I’d been made to feel. Nixon had been too busy with the crisis at the farm for me to feel able to burden him with my issues.
“And you think they’ll follow your instructions and look after me?” I batted back with a doubtful expression.
He ignored my question and gave me one of his own, “Has this got something to do with what happened with Boyd that day, because you don’t have to worry. I’ve sorted it now and he’s sorry.” Yeah right. I didn’t believe that for a second, thinking of those following olive branches he’d ignored.
I found his inability to budge unfair and unacceptable and I pushed against it.
Releasing a puff of air I said, “What if I just go when you’ve left?”
He raised an eyebrow in response before adding, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“You can’t stop me from leaving, Nixon,” I pointed out, jamming my hands on my hips, and looking down on him for a change. I needed him to know I meant business and wouldn’t cow-tow this time. He pushed to his feet to tower above me, blatantly trying to intimidate me; and turn the tables, which was ridiculous as I certainly didn’t have the upper hand.
Nixon McKenna had always been a force to be reckoned with and right then, he was unshakable.
It was like that old Nixon was back, the one before we were together. Of course, I always knew that the darker side was part of him, but I hadn’t seen it since we’d started seeing each other. It frightened me, but I shoved my fear to one side, knowing he’d never hurt me.
He’d been hesitating before his reply and he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, “What did you say?”
Resting my hands on my lap, I repeated, “You can’t stop me if I want to leave here. ”
My eyes then roamed over the neatness of the piles of army uniforms and his behaviour made sense. He wasn’t himself right then. The past was probably on his mind.
Nixon started to look agitated and he paced up and down his room a couple of times with his fists clenched. This wasn’t my Nixon, this was that torn, twisted person from the past.
“So, you’re saying you’re leaving me now?” He blasted down, hotly. Misunderstanding what I had said. It was like he saw red.
I stared up at him, my eyes angry, “No, of course not. I just want to go home for a while.”
And his temper snapped, “And there you said it again, this is your home, Jenna!”
I knew he was behaving out of character but his words still rattled me. They broke the camel's back and I blurted, “This will never be my home.”
The words were out before I could stop them. Those weeks of struggle bursting from my mouth, my entire body language to be honest. I hadn’t had it easy and Nixon had been so wrapped up in his own stuff that he had failed to notice that. My husband hadn’t been there for me.
Nixon did not like what I’d said. His face was furious and I was annoyed that I hadn’t realised earlier that this wasn’t just about us, this was about his return to work. With all those pains of the past. He was playing up because of that. That had to be the reason he was being so off with me and denying me something so straightforward.
He started pacing again. I could see him struggling to control his temper. It radiated from him in waves and I needed him to calm down.
I watched helplessly as he stopped before me, his rigid body only just managing to contain his inner beast and I jumped as he banged his fist on top of the dressing table's surface. The items there rattled, along with my teeth .
Taking a deep breath, I attempted to cool things down, “You need to calm down Nixon. We can talk about this like—like—civilised people,” I stuttered, a lump in my throat. This was the most fired-up situation I had ever been in.
“I don’t feel very civilised right now, Jenna. Maybe you should go downstairs,” Nixon suggested with a dark menace. I held his eyes as I shook my head in response.
I paused for breath, “Why don’t I go to my parent’s place and give you some space? Time to pack? We can do something tomorrow for the entire day together if you get it all done tonight. Have some quality us time,” I suggested hopefully.
This seemed to throw extra fire onto the inferno, “I don’t need space,” he said hoarsely.
His voice dipped, his eyes roaming over my body almost sadly, and I knew he didn’t want to go away and leave me. He was fighting a battle and not just with me.
“Then what do you need Nixon, talk to me. Don’t shut me out. I’m here for you,” I whispered, touching his face with my hand. A muscle jerked in his cheek.
“I need you . I need to be inside you. Right now, so fucking much I ache.” The tension still hadn’t left his body. He wanted to eradicate the way he was feeling through sex, I could see that in every contour of that lust-fuelled expression. But it wasn’t the right time for me, when not when he was so riled and unpredictable. At that moment, Nixon’s aggression was real, alive, and palpable.
“No Nixon. Not like this. Let’s just talk.” It would be so easy to rush into his arms and soothe it all away through sex but I wouldn’t back down, I couldn’t. He needed to speak to me and open-up more. Like he had that day at the base .
His tone became even more heated, “I won’t fucking hurt you. You can trust me. You know I’d never do that. I just need you, Jenna,” his tone sent a shard of pity through me. I could tell he was hurting.
“I still don’t want to, Nixon. Not when you’re like this.”
And then he lost it, right before my eyes, “Fine. Go home and run back to Daddy then.” He was furious again. The way he said those words was like he was imagining me running off with another man or something. His sentence dripped with jealousy and I knew it was time to leave. Nixon had never looked at me with that level of contempt, not even during those early days when he pushed me away.
It was then that I noticed the whisky on his breath. That was odd, we’d only had a glass of wine with supper. Glancing around, I saw the bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor by the bed where he had been going through his army stuff. There was a good portion missing from the top. He’d been with his brothers earlier as I’d read my book.
“Are you drunk?” I question, folding my arms.
This caused a flash of fire from his eyes, “Am I fuck, not even slightly. Why don’t you let me show you.” Nixon said, gripping his crotch.
And that was my signal to leave. I wasn’t scared of him. I knew he’d never force me to do anything, but I needed to take myself away from him, maybe if just for a few hours.
I moved away and set off for the door, tugging it open but as I did so, it slammed shut as Nixon rammed his hand against the wood above my head.
My heart lurched in my chest as I spun around, Nixon was right there looming over me, a pained expression on his face. He moved both hands and placed them either side of my head, caging me in.
“Nixon, stop it. What are you doing? This isn’t you. You need to let me go,” I said, feeling close to tears .
He wasn’t angry now, he was more upset, ashamed maybe, “I can’t do it, I won’t ever let you go. Please don’t leave me, I’m sorry. Just stay with me, don’t go. I need you, Jenna.”
My heart squeezed but I needed to put some space between us. Nixon rested his head against my forehead for a second before lifting his face to mine. The look he gave me was strained. I had never seen him so out of control.
I said nothing, couldn’t pull my tongue off the roof of my mouth and this pushed Nixon’s temper into the next gear
He shoved himself off the door and grabbed my arm, tugging me away from the surface. He then opened it and released me, motioning for me to leave with a flick of his hand.
“Go then,” he said, his face seething, his mouth a thin line.
And I did, I moved past him and started to walk down the corridor. As I reached the stairs, our eyes locked and his next words sent a wave of misery to rush through me.
As I crossed the fields in the darkness over to my parent’s house, Nixon’s cruel parting words vibrated around my head.
“If you can’t give me what I need tonight, I will find someone who can,” he had shouted down the corridor before slamming the door.
My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. It didn’t matter that those words were probably hot air. It hurt. Nixon had hurt me more than he could possibly know and that is something he’d promised he would never do.