Chapter Eight
Pulling out of the Whataburger drive-through, we head to our local Walmart so I can pick up my prescription of painkillers.
The pain for now is manageable, but I was told it is going to get worse later on.
Waiting in the pharmacy line, my mind goes back to us leaving the ER.
Gavin… I’ve missed him so much over the years.
I was kind of surprised to see the look in his eyes when he saw me.
I think that was actual panic. Like he was worried about me…
? Considering how things ended with us, that's just a little strange.
“Can I have your name and date of birth, please?” The pharmacist asks, looking at her screen.
“Did you get everything you needed in there? How are you feeling? Has the pain gotten worse?’
“Yes, I got everything I need, and it's still the same. I just want to get home,” I say, kind of small. We make our way out of the Walmart parking lot and head out of town back to my trailer park.
Peyton pulls in front of the trailer and puts her car into park. “Call me later, okay? Keep me updated, and if you need anything at all, call me. I love you, Juni.”
“Thanks, Peyton, I’ll keep you updated, too. I love you, be safe,” I say as I get out of her car. Peyton backs out of the driveway and heads in the direction of her apartment.
I barely get through the door before the quiet settles in.
The house smells stale, like it’s been holding its breath all day.
I take a seat at the kitchen table, pull my knees to my chest, lay my head down for a few minutes, and take a breath.
The overly bright hospital lights. All of the questions…
. My cast is getting itchy already. I get up, porcelain glints beside the sink. My stomach tightens.
The ornament sits in two clean pieces on the counter, the ribbon still attached, the words Baby’s First Christmas fractured straight through the middle.
I swallow hard. “ Shit, I completely forgot I need to fix this, damn it, I was just at Walmart!” I half yell at myself.
I go to pick it up when I hear keys unlock the door.
My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest, the doorknob turns, and the door opens.
Reece steps inside. At first, he’s smiling, and then it falters; he just starts staring at me. At the cast. At the ornament. The door slowly closes behind him. “So,” he says calmly. “Are you just getting home? Where have you been?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Listen, something happened, Reece. I’m so sorry. I tried so hard…” I stop talking as I can sense he’s not listening.
His eyes focused on the broken ornament. “I can see that,” He says flatly.
I already know what he’s looking at. “Reece, I didn’t mean to break it. I am really sorry. I was looking through that tote… and it broke.”
“It… just… broke..?,” he repeats, hanging his coat off the back of the door. “Funny how you have only been breaking my family’s shit…”
My chest tightens. “It was an accident both times… Reece….”
“And you think you should automatically be forgiven?” His voice is sharp, making me flinch. “That ornament wasn’t replaceable, Juniper.” He says angrily.
“Baby, I'm so sorry, I’m going to fix it! I promise.”
He laughs, “Are you always going to be sorry after breaking my shit?” He slowly steps closer to me, causing me to take a step back.
“Do you understand the significance of that ornament?” he says.
“My very first Christmas gift from my grandmother. And you just dug into that tote without any care in the world.”
My right hand comes down and settles on the cast. This catches his eye. “I really didn’t…”
“Fucking don’t,” he snaps.
“What do you mean, Reece… Don’t what?”
“Don’t act like you’re the victim here.”
“I’m not..” My voice falters. My head snaps to the left with force. My eyes blurred, and a searing heat moved across my cheek before my brain could catch up. I stumble backward, catching myself on the counter with my good arm. Silence. After a moment, I registered what had happened.
“Oh, my fucking god,” Reece says, stepping back.
“Juni…Pretty Girl…fuck.” I’m pressing my good hand to the left side of my face, tears leaking down my face without permission.
My cheek burns. My fucking wrist screams. Everything feels wrong.
And everything fucking hurts. “I can’t believe you made me do that,” he says, running his hand up and down his neck.
“I was already on edge from work, and this is what I came home to?”
“I didn’t…” I try to speak…
“Then why are you acting defensive, Juniper? You never think. You just do.” He closes the distance again, slowly.
Looking at me carefully. “I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he says so quietly.
“But, Pretty Girl, understand, I reacted. Anyone would have done the same.” I nod before I realize that I am.
“I love you,” he adds. “Let's not fight.” He reaches for me, hesitating, then gently wraps his arms around me. “Go change,” he says. “I’ll take you out for dinner, it’ll be a nice reset.
” My cheek is still hot. My heart is broken, but his voice is back to normal.
And somehow, that feels like everything is going to be okay.
The restaurant is comfortable and candlelit.
Low music. Safe. I keep my cast hidden under the tablecloth.
If I can ignore the pain and forget that it’s there, the night will be better.
My cheek still aches beneath the makeup I caked on, still sore to the touch.
Reece orders my food and drink order without asking.
My favorite. Blackberry Whiskey Sour. The appetizer I like but never ordered.
“See, Pretty Girl?” He says with a small smile.
“I love you.” I nod, I can’t speak. He grips my hand gently, being careful and acting as if I’m made of glass.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened earlier,” he says quietly.
My stomach starts forming knots. “I should have stopped myself,” he continues.
“Seeing you this badly hurt… the last thing my grandma gave me was broken… it overwhelmed me. I reacted.” I tell myself that it makes sense.
“Pretty Girl, I don’t handle stress well,” he adds.
“And then the ornament… It felt like everything all at once.”
“I didn’t break it on purpose,” I say automatically.
“I know,” he says quickly, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I know you didn’t, Pretty Girl.”
The waiter comes by, and Reece turns on his smile like a switch.
Easy. Charming. He jokes, asks questions, and thanks him like nothing in the world is wrong.
When we’re alone again, his attention snaps back to me.
“You’re shaking,” he says gently. I look down at my hands.
Shocked. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re safe.
I’ve got you, Pretty Girl.” The words land on me like a weighted blanket.
Heavy but conforming at the same time. “I hate who I become when I feel disrespected,” he says, almost like he’s confessing something fragile.
“But I’m trying. For us.” For us. I nod.
I keep nodding tonight, not actually thinking.
“I just need you to communicate better,” he continues.
“No shutting down. Don’t act like I’m the bad guy. ”
“I know you’re not the bad guy,” I say quickly.
His smile widens, slow and pleased. “Good.”
Dinner comes. He cuts my steak for me without asking, slides my plate closer, and refills my water.
He laughs. I brush my bangs out of my eyes, careful not to touch my cheek.
Anyone watching would think we are perfect.
When the waitress drops off the bill, he pays without looking.
“Next Christmas, I’ll make sure I’m not traveling.
I want to give you the best Christmas I can, Pretty Girl.
” The pain is still here. But he’s being the sweet, thoughtful guy I married again. This is the only version of him I want.