Chapter 14 Jonah #2
“You don’t want marriage. You want a baby.
” Alex turns to Pastor David. "You want to know what's really wrong with our marriage?
It's not that I don't believe in God or that I drink or that I don't want kids.
It's that we're from completely different worlds and the only thing we have in common is that we want to fuck each other senseless. "
"This is precisely the problem," Pastor David interjects. "Lust without foundation. Physical compatibility without spiritual connection. This is why—”
"Oh, shut up," Alex says, not even looking at him. He's staring at me, those gray eyes dark with emotion. "You don't know anything about connection. You've probably never had a hard-on in your entire dried-up existence."
"That's enough," Pastor David stands. "Jonah, we're leaving."
"No," I say quietly. Both men look at me. "I'm not leaving. Not yet."
"Jonah—"
"Pastor, thank you for coming. Thank you for trying. But I need to talk to my husband alone."
Pastor David looks between us—Alex still holding his whiskey, me standing my ground—and shakes his head. "This man will corrupt you."
"I just want to talk to him.”
For a long moment, no one moves. Then Pastor David walks to the door, pauses. "I’ll wait for you outside, Jonah."
After he leaves, silence fills the space. Alex finishes his whiskey, sets the glass down with a sharp click.
"Well," he says finally. "That went well."
I fold my arms. "You were horrible to him."
"He was horrible first. At our wedding, remember?"
"Don’t be such a child." I say quietly. " Besides, I mean it. About going home. If you won't even try—"
"What do you want me to try, Jonah? To pretend I want kids?"
"I want you to try being my husband. Just... try. That's all."
He laughs, but it's bitter. "I am trying. I moved out here so we wouldn't kill each other. That's me trying."
"That's you running. The frustration boils over. "Fine. You know what? You win. I'm going home."
I turn to leave, but his hand catches my wrist. The touch burns through me, making my knees weak.
"Don't," he says, and for once there's no sarcasm, no armor. "Don't go."
"Why?" I challenge. "Give me one good reason to stay."
He pulls me closer, and I can smell the whiskey on his breath, the underlying alpha scent that makes me crazy. "Because despite everything, despite being completely wrong for each other, we're married. And maybe that should mean something. Even to fucked-up people like us."
"You just said—"
"I know what I said. I'm drunk and I'm an asshole. But I'm also right—we are going to end up hating each other if we keep going. The question is whether that matters as much as..." He gestures between us, at the electric current that never stops humming.
"Than chemistry?"
"Yeah."
He's right.
"So what do we do?" I ask.
He releases my wrist, steps back. "I don't know. But threatening each other probably isn't the answer."
"You threatened first. By moving out."
"You threatened back. By bringing the pastor."
We're at an impasse, standing in his perfect summer house with the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows and nothing resolved.
"Well then, little church mouse," he says finally, the armor sliding back into place. "You can fuck off home if you want. You too, Padre—oh wait, he already left."
"You're impossible," I tell him.
"Yeah, well, you married me."
I look at him for a long moment—messy hair, glazed eyes and I realise that this is going to be my life.
We’ll spend it fucking and fighting. And the fighting will be every day.
Heats aren’t enough to maintain a marriage.
They never were. And if I’m not pregnant now, if I stay will be soon.
I’ll be bringing children into a marriage where their parents hate each other.
Mom was right about one thing. God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. And sometimes you get things you don’t expect and didn’t want. That’s just how the world works.
Maybe I was never meant to have children or an alpha. I have nieces and nephews whom I love dearly and I’m not going to help raise them if I stay here.
"You're right. I did marry you." My voice sounds strange, calm. "That was my mistake."
Something shifts in his expression, but I'm already walking toward the door.
"Jonah—"
"No." I don't turn around. "You win. Enjoy your summer house."
The walk back to the main house takes ten minutes but feels like hours. Pastor David is waiting by his car, a rusty Toyota with the paint peeling on the hood, and a crack across the windshield.
"I'm coming with you," I tell him.
"Jonah, are you certain?"
"I need to pack."
My suitcase is still in the closet where I'd shoved it after unpacking.
I grab the items I'd scattered around—my toothbrush from the bathroom, my clothes and my books. My wedding suit hangs in the wardrobe, still covered in plastic. I leave it.
My hands are steady as I zip everything closed.
I walk out to Pastor David's car. The door creaks when I open it, and the seat springs poke through worn fabric. Pastor David starts the engine. It coughs twice before catching.
As the car rattles down the long gravel drive, I don't look back.