194
Jake continues to refuse to acknowledge me; even when we board the flight, he has his earphones in and his music blaring. He submerges himself in work on his laptop across the aisle from me, laying a bag on the seat beside him, making it clear he wants space. I grit my teeth and jut out my chin in anger. I get up and shake my head at him in a fury.
Screw you, Jake. Act like an asshole, and I’ll happily treat you like one.
I move down the plane, pick a seat facing away from him, and haul out my book. Not that I can focus, I’m seething because he’s behaving this way.
Why is it always about what he wants, and I must go along or be frozen out?
Sometimes he’s impossible.
* * *
“You’re not coming?” I gawp at him as I slide into the car while Jefferson holds the door open, my heart falling to my feet like a heavy sandbag, pain constricting in my throat.
“No, I’ve got to take care of a few things.” Jake avoids looking at me, his expression hard as he gazes across the airfield toward an approaching familiar car. He lets Jefferson take our cases and load them in the trunk as I stare with open astonishment through the wide-open car door.
“Jake, we need to talk about things.” I plead. Anxiety and panic rise inside of me. My angry resolve, which has lasted through our entire flight, dissipates and is replaced with hurt.
How ironic that now I’m the one who wants to talk. When did that flip?
“I’ve nothing else to say,” he grinds out coldly as he turns and heads off toward his car, now parked on the tarmac about twenty feet away. I see Daniel sliding dutifully out of the driver’s door with a confused look. He obviously had orders to drive Jake’s pride and joy here, and he wonders what the hell is eating his ass. Daniel looks him over, noting the tense scowl, the rigid posture, and the way he completely blanks my existence without a backward glance. Daniel looks at me hesitantly, and I glimpse, for a moment, an almost worried expression. My stomach lurches.
“You’re being an asshole,” I spit at his retreating back, but he only lifts a hand in a gesture that dismisses me, a wave at an irritation he doesn’t want to deal with. The pain rises in my chest and threatens to suffocate me.
He stalks to the driver’s side and thumbs Daniel out of the way arrogantly; he reluctantly moves around the car to get in the passenger side. Taking one last look at me and a quick flick to Jake’s profile, his face says it all. Daniel thinks we’re over. He frowns and retreats.
Oh, my God.
My breath catches in my throat with the overwhelming despair inside me as I try to figure out if we really are.
Jake slides into the McLaren P1 and pulls down the door aggressively, firing it up and revving the engine so it roars across at me. The sound is both intimidating and terrifying. I’m pretty sure that if he had something to smash right now, he would be focusing all his energy on beating the crap out of it. He’s practically aching for a fight.
The car reverses at death-defying speed with a squeal. A huge drift of black smoke billows from the tires as he spins the car around in a show of idiocy, handbrake-spinning it so it’s facing the other way in a blink. He slams his foot down, the wheel spinning viciously for a few seconds, and takes off like a bat out of hell, the air ringing with the powerful engine and squealing of brakes. The stench of burned rubber and God knows what else taints the atmosphere around me. All I hear is the roaring hum as the car clings to the tarmac and speeds out of sight, and I want to scream in frustration.
What the actual fuck, Jake?
We’ve had arguments before, but none since we got together where he’s ever just walked off and left things in the air like this; he’s obviously in arrogant asshole mode. Not since the yacht, so very long ago, has he behaved this way. Surely, he won’t end things over this. Even he isn’t that dumb.
I get that I’ve hurt him, maybe more than I realize, but he does not need to behave this way toward me. Things are different between us now.
I slam my door, not waiting for Jefferson, and throw myself into the seat in a tearful rage. If he’s trying to punish me, it’s working, but I’m not going to let him know. He can be a jackass; if he wants to act like this, he should never have chosen me as a girlfriend. Of all the women in the world, I will not chase after him like some pathetic girl with a broken heart and try to make this right. This is on him; it’s his stupid asshole behavior, and he needs to get a grip.
“Take me to Queens,” I command as Jefferson slides in. “I’ll be staying there tonight.” I sound more in control than I feel, my insides twisting and aching in pain.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he responds with a cool gentle tone, a flicker of a frown visible in his mirror, and I know that he’s pissed at Jake too. It soothes me a little.
Before long, we’re heading away from the airfield in search of Sarah and solitude. Jake needs to realize that, despite his authoritarian ways, I am still my own person. Maybe I’ve let him take the lead a little too often, and he’s gotten used to dictating my life. He can take his mood and sulk as long as he needs, and when he finally sees just how much of a jackass he is being, he can come to find me.
I’m not playing this game again! One thing his leaving the yacht taught me was that Jake is an impulsive ass when his feelings are bruised. He acts like an adolescent. He carries on like a child and lashes out impulsively at those he loves.
Hasn’t he done that to me once before?
I will leave him to simmer. God knows how long this will take him to get over; that one time on the yacht saw him in a mood for almost two weeks, but he came back and made things right. I have to trust that he will do that now.
* * *
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