24. Nova
“Why are you so pissed off?”
I freeze, biting the inside of my cheek. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I know he’s watching me while I watch the sink full of bubbles and dirty dishes as if it holds the answers to all my questions.
“I’m not pissed off. I never said I was pissed off.”
Jack sighs, scraping the leftover remnants of the food I’d cooked from someone’s plate and into the garbage can.
“Because you’re acting pissed off.”
I know I am, but I can’t bring myself to admit it. Truth is, right now, I want to scream. To fight. To argue. I want to hurt him like he’s hurting me, but I can’t do it.
This isn’t healthy, but . . . it’s life.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood in my mouth. Tears well in my eyes, but I push them back. They’ll only make this worse.
“You didn’t speak to me all night, Jack.”
I don’t know what I was hoping for. I should have known better.
“Jesus Christ,” he grits under his breath, huffing out a deep sigh. He drops the plate he was holding in the sink in front of me, splashing water over the side and onto the front of my shirt.
I gasp as the heat hits my stomach and reach for a towel.
“You know, you could have at least been nice. These are my friends.”
“I was nice.” I cooked a three-course meal, by myself. Cleaned the house. Got the groceries. I mingled, tried to fit into the conversation where I could when I understood nothing Jack’s work friends were talking about. And I worked this morning.
Right now, I’m exhausted. I want to go to bed, but we’re here, standing in our tiny kitchen, arguing about who’s right when in reality, no one is. Neither is right, but it’s a battle of wills to see who will crack first and apologize.
“I just wanted to have a good time, tonight, but you spent most of it being weird and quiet.”
“I didn’t know anyone,” I snap, dropping the sponge back into the sink. “You didn’t introduce me to anyone, and you let that girl hang all over you.”
“Holy shit,” he groans, staring up at the ceiling. “Now we’re on this, again.”
“Why are we on this again, Jack?” I whirl on him, losing my temper in the process. This is all too much. Lately, everything has been too much. “First Sophie, now a girl from work? Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”
“I think you’re making yourself look that way. Accusing me of shit I didn’t do.”
“Except you did do it with Sophie or am I just supposed to forget about that, too?”
“I can’t have friends? Do I have to tell you when I talk to my mom now, too? Your first mistake is convincing yourself that you’re the center of attention in my world, Nova. I’m a busy man. It comes with the territory.”
Ouch.
I’ve never hated him, until this moment.
The Jack I used to know? That’s not the man that sleeps beside me every night.
Quietly, all the fight in my body shuts down. I turn back toward the sink, resume washing the dishes as Jack continues on his tirade and I wish myself away. Home. Port Nova. The inn. The cottage. Home. Gran and Pappap.
I repeat this mantra over and over in my head, but it’s not working tonight.
No, tonight, Jack wants me to listen to him.
“I deserve to catch up with my friends without having you make the entire night about you.”
“I didn’t do anything. I stayed out of your way.”
“And now I’m paying the price for it. Do you hear how fucking crazy you sound?” He hits himself in the temple, enunciating his words.
Home. Port Nova. The inn—
“All you do is fucking think about yourself, Nova. You don’t think about what I want? Or my needs?”
“Jack, I got this entire party together for you. I cooked, cleaned. Did everything you asked.”
“And you want some kind of reward. It’s fucking selfish.”
“I’m selfish?”
“You’re acting like it,” he argues, his voice raising. “You can’t just do something nice for me? I have to shout it to the world?” He strides to the window, opening it, and letting the cool, February air seep into the kitchen. “Hey, everybody!”
“Stop!” I urge, panic seizing in my chest, but he doesn’t listen.
“My wife wants everyone to know she finally cleaned the fucking house!”
I can’t stop the tear that slips down my cheek any more than I can stop Jack from screaming and waking our neighbors. He slips back into the window, shutting it so hard the glass rattles from the impact.
“There? Happy now?”
“You’re such a fucking asshole.”
I turn to stride away from him, but he grabs me around the wrist.
The singular thought in my head when his fingers tighten to near bruising strength?
This is new.
“Don’t just walk away from me. It’s fucking rude.”
“Let go of me,” I grit, wrenching away from him and stumbling back into the kitchen counter so hard, I jostle the plates sitting on the edge.
Jack releases me like I’d burned him and we both stare at each other in angry silence. Me with tears in my eyes. Him with guilt.
I hate him, I realize, just as he steps forward.
He tries to come to me. Comfort me, but I can’t . . . have his hands on me right now.
“Stop.”
“Baby,” he murmurs, voice softening. “Come on. We can just forget about it and go to bed.”
“Stop,” I try again when he reaches for me a second time, but he’s bigger. Faster. He grips my arm, gentler than the first time, though it still feels like a branding iron on my skin. He tugs me to his chest and I go because he’s who I seek out in times when the world feels like it’s caving in on itself. When the sounds are too loud and I need solace, I find him.
What does it mean when he’s the villain as well as the hero in this story?
“Let’s go to bed. I don’t want to fight with you.”
He holds me, strongly. Fiercely. Like he loves me. Like I’m his last chance at salvation.
“I don’t want to fight,” he repeats, swaying with me in his arms and I suck in the tears that are rolling down my cheeks.
“I love you,” he whispers, pulling back to look at me. He cups my face in his hand, holding my gaze to his. “You know that.”
He waits for me to reply, so I do, even as the numbness takes over and I’m not sure what I feel anymore.
“I love you, too.”