36. Willa
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
WILLA
I walk out to the living room to find Trevor, laptop open on his chest, knocked out on my couch.
Nausea rises in my throat from the freshly punched feeling in my gut.
He’d rather suffer on the sofa than sleep next to me ?
When I went to bed last night, he claimed he had a few more things to finish for work.
It’s clear now that it was an excuse to create more distance.
Turning on my heel, I stomp back to my room to get ready for my appointment.
This bleeding thing is stressful as hell, and he doesn’t seem affected by it.
He won’t even talk about it with me. He’ll barely talk to me at all , and that confuses me because Trevor never shuts the hell up.
I don’t have the energy to deal with the emotional whiplash right now.
If he’s pulling away, so am I. I’m not going back down the gentleman-to-asshole pipeline, no matter if he is the father of my child.
By the time I come back out to the kitchen, Trevor has showered, and he’s fiddling with the orchid in the kitchen window. He’d rather fondle a dead plant than touch me ? Fucking figures .
A small plate of eggs and toast is waiting for me on the counter.
“You should eat. We need to leave soon.” He steps back as I approach, like I’m covered in radioactive waste.
It pisses me all the way off. How do you go from begging to be my own personal sex chair to not being able to breathe the same air as me in the span of forty-eight hours?
I’m tempted to leave the plate where it is, but now the baby wants eggs and toast. Traitor .
As soon as we get in the rental car, the love ballad filtering through the speakers adds to my visceral vexation.
The farther we drive, the more the boy bands bother me.
Each flowery verse crushes my chest like a passive aggressive reminder of what happened between us in Nebraska.
He tossed it all out of the window so quickly, I’m infuriated with myself for letting him get close enough to do so.
After twenty minutes, it’s hard to ignore the music.
The correct combination of lyrics lands in my heart, cracking open an entryway for sympathy that hits me hard enough to second-guess myself.
He listens to this when he’s overwhelmed .
We’re dealing with something intense and scary, and instead of clinging to each other, we both scurried to our maladaptive coping caves.
He may very well be just as scared as I am.
As much as I don’t want to be the first one to yield, I might have to be.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I say, hoping the small white flag will ease some tension.
“Yep.” He doesn’t even look at me. Not so much as a twitch in his neck. Trevor’s eyes stay fixed on the road, even as he leans forward to turn up the music, and it’s like he slammed a door in my face.
Fuck you too , then .