211

I stand in the shower for an unbelievably long time. The hot water pouring down me refreshingly helps to push the nausea down. I’m aching at everything so familiar about being here, so many memories and thoughts of Jake beside me. I feel like I’ve woken inside a dream, some strange alternate reality I never left, and this feels like where I should be. It’s disconcerting and doesn’t help my emotionally confused state of mind at all.
Fully cleansed of my shameful drunken night and drying myself, I can hear noise in the apartment. The sound of music drifting through the walls, and I know Jake must be back. I pause for a moment listening to the faint drifting of one of his favorite songs and the sound of a juicer going in the kitchen, emotion swirling in apprehension in my stomach. I’m nervous about being with him, being alone, and facing him.
I pull on an oversized white bathrobe and wander cautiously out to the large open-plan lounge, looking around for him, holding my breath. I’m like a jittery teen going on a first date.
He has his back to me, dressed in a fresh T-shirt and jeans, and seems to be making a smoothie or some healthy drink. The blender is going strong, so he doesn’t hear me approach. I can’t help but watch how his strong, wide shoulders move and flex under his body-hugging T-shirt or how his arms and biceps tense and grow with every bend and stretch. His masculine mannerisms, strong with effortless ease and grace, are the signs of a man confident in himself without the malice of cocky arrogance.
I must admit, he’s the perfect specimen of manly form. Just the thought of it makes me depressed. Every nerve in my body is torn between lust and betrayal, I want him, yet I don’t. I long for his touch, yet I know it will only bring me pain. I miss those arms and hands on me, but I know having them back would break me.
The machine stops, and I watch from the other side of the counter as he pours half into a tall glass before turning my way with a flicker of surprise.
“Hey, didn’t hear you coming through.” He smiles in his shy and charmingly beautiful way; it has the same effect on me that it always has. I clamp my knees together as a wave of hot warmth rushes through my veins.
Seems he hasn’t lost that ability over me anyway.
“Here, your favorite smoothie. I figured you may need it, seeing as you haven’t eaten anything yet.” He nods toward the plate of croissants on the counter, now covered in plastic wrap. I take the tall glass, carefully avoiding his hand so we don’t touch, and smile shyly. I pull my robe tighter across my chest and slide onto the bar stool trying with every ounce of self-control to stop trembling and acting as awkward as hell.
“Thanks. Not sure I can drink it right now, but I’ll try.” I take a sip of the forest fruits, mango, and banana smoothie, touched that he would do it for me; but I gasp and swallow hard when the bile rises from my stomach. I put my drink down grimly and hold my throat until the nausea calms down.
“Maybe just water?” He nods at me with a slight frown before getting me a glass of iced water from the machine on the refrigerator.
There’s a weird quiet atmosphere as he watches me sip. Tension and awkwardness, as though neither of us knows what to say first. I turn away from him and around the room to find something to rest my eyes on that isn’t six feet two, sexy as hell, with an ability to break me into a million pieces. I can feel his body heat across the kitchen bar and the tingle of electricity in the air. Drawn back to him like a moth to a flame. I glance up and down at his fresh clothes and know for a fact he never came into his room for them. I motion with my glass at his attire shyly.
“Why are you keeping clothes in the guest rooms?” I ask gently, confused by this unusual fact. He frowns at me for a moment before answering.
“Because I can’t bear to be in there.” He nods toward his bedroom. “Without you … I had Nora move some of my things so I wouldn’t need to go there at all.” He looks down at his hands awkwardly. I flinch like he’s just sucker-punched me in the stomach. It’s such a painful response. We look away from each other instantly.
“I see.” I choke back the tears threatening to break loose and clear my throat to try to shift them away again.
“I brought you something to wear when I took Sarah home. The bag is by the bedroom door.” He nods toward the pink hold-all that belongs to Sarah, changing the subject quickly, and I smile gratefully; only Jake would’ve had that kind of foresight.
“Figured you would keep me in that dress if you had a choice,” I smirk at him and catch the tension in his face, ease a little. Trying to lighten the heavy mood I created with my question.
“I would have, but I think it needs dry cleaning first. You smelled like a brewery last night.” His devilish smile melts the pain in my heart slightly, and I slide off the chair. Jake’s trying for the light, easy humor we used to have. It’s a little warming and helps with easing my nerves.
“I think I’ll go get dressed. I don’t feel too comfortable like this.” I point out an instant pain in my heart at the hint of disappointment across his face. Jake used to love me in nothing more than bathrobes, easy to peel apart and access me underneath. This is a sign of how things are between us, and without trying to wound him, I have.
“I’ll be here.” He throws on a brave smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I nod and move off, grabbing the bag as I pass, trying to remove the spike wedging itself in my heart.

* * *

He chose one of my casual ‘lounging at home’ outfits, whether it was deliberate or Sarah had chosen it, but I’m comfortable. I feel much better dressed in leggings and a silky camisole under a long, oversized cashmere jumper. I pull on the long thick socks, leaving them wrinkled at my ankles. They’re my much-needed hugs from clothes I would’ve chosen myself.
The nausea, headache, and overwhelming hangover are still lingering, but that constant hunger I seem to have is starting to battle with it, urging me to eat after all. I’m unsure how well it’ll go down, but I’m ravenous despite what awaits me out in the kitchen.
I pad out into the lounge and see Jake hovering in the kitchen, messing with the expensive coffee maker and filling up the small compartments. I never see much of his domesticated side when Nora is around, but he shows his competence on the rare occasions she has a day off.
He turns with a timid smile, sensing my presence, and puts down the packets he’s holding. We both know it’s time we talked and stopped evading this. I walk past him, retrieve the smoothie from the fridge, and take a proper drink, and he smiles at my efforts.
“Do you want to sit here or in our room?” His gentleness makes me waver; he’s still calling it ‘our’ room, and I can’t trust myself not to fall under his spell almost instantly if we were near that bed.
“The couch.” I nod in the direction of the white leather and chrome behind him, and with trembling legs, I make my way to the padded seat and sit down, hating the tension that has suddenly thickened in the space between us.
I push around some of the fluffy cushions I picked out a few weeks ago, nervous anticipation and stomach butterflies returning, and nestle myself near the side table so I can put my glass down. I haven’t upchucked it yet, surprisingly, it seems to be soothing my stomach. The aspirin is helping my head a little.
He waits, then sits near me, still giving me space. His whole body is turned to me, focusing solely on my face. This close, I can almost feel his touch. His smell is intoxicating, and his nearness is a little too suffocating. I tip my head down, letting my damp hair cover me, suddenly aware of how tired and pale I must look.
I don’t want him to see me this way. I should’ve worn make-up or paid more attention to my appearance earlier!
“You look beautiful, Neonata,” he says, almost as though he can read my mind. I swallow hard as the lump of emotion threatens to rise through my throat at the fact that he always knows.
Is there another human being alive so effortlessly in tune with me? Who always says just what I need to hear?
“I look tired and awful,” I reply quietly. “I haven’t been sleeping a whole lot lately.” I bring my hands to the hem of the cozy long jumper dress, fiddling with the soft wool, and chew my lip. Now I’m here beside him and ready to get this out. I don’t know what to say or how to say it; I don’t even know what I want.
“Makes two of us.” His voice is lighter, and without looking up, I can tell he’s staring at me with his beautifully gorgeous green eyes.
God, I miss him so much.
Even his smell and closeness are aiding wounds that have opened over the last few days. The eternal despair and loneliness that consumed me are fading with his mere presence and him being his normal gentle self. I can almost forget the past few days of unbearable loneliness.
“You hurt me.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say to get this in the direction it needs to go. I’m so used to Jake leading conversations that involve feelings but not this time. I need him to understand what I’m feeling and thinking and not let it bubble inside me.
“I know … I hate myself right now, Emma. You have to believe me. If I could go back and stop it, I would, in a heartbeat.” He shifts closer, his leg on the couch, so he’s fully turned to me. I can’t bring myself to turn to him, tears welling inside me now that we’re doing this. “I can’t function without you … I miss you like crazy, Bambina, and I’m losing my mind not being able to touch you.” His nearness causes waves of tingles and cold to run over me, my body as confused as my mind, turning into a chaos of mixed signals. Lust, fear, longing, defiance, love, hate, heartbreak. I’ve no idea what to feel about him.
“I don’t know if I can ever forgive what you did.” A silent tear rolls down my cheek. “I trusted you.” I lift my hand, tangling my fingers into my hair, turning the strand, and twisting it absent-mindedly, trying to focus on something else rather than the erupting chaos inside me. Jake leans out over me automatically, taking my hand in his, and slides the last gap between us, holding my hand to his chest and over his heart. His touch is searing yet comforting but pushes the vision of his hand on her into my head, and I pull it away as though it’s been scolded. He says nothing and doesn’t react but sighs gently, accepting that I can’t have him holding my hand.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to earn it back … I’ll do anything, Emma. I’ll go anywhere. If you want me to cut all ties with her, then I will.” His voice only holds strong conviction.
“What about the baby?” I croak, my heart thudding like a war drum. I can’t look at him when he’s sitting so close, but I can feel his eyes burning into me, devouring me.
“If you asked me to walk away from that too, I would. I know how bad it will be for us to have that connection with her. All I want is you back in my arms, Emma.” He leans closer, almost touching my hair with his nose. I hold my breath, fighting with myself to move away, but my body stays still, betraying my mind. My body wants this even if my brain screams to get away from him. I feel so powerless.
“I wouldn’t want you to do that. I don’t want you to abandon it, despite me not wanting the baby to be there.” My hands are shaking so badly I push them between my knees and press my legs together to hold them still.
“I know you wouldn’t, but I need you to know I would do anything for you.”
“I need you to tell me why.” The tears spring out without warning, my voice crumbling, and I tense away as his hands rise to hold me. He stills and puts them back down.
“There is no why, baby. Only a stupid drunken mess who convinced himself that you didn’t want a life with me. I wasn’t just drunk, Emma. I went off the rails and took shit I hadn’t touched since my teens. I got completely shit-faced and got into a fight with two men during that one night.” The regret in his voice causes me to look at his hands. It’s the first time I notice the faint bruises and healing cuts across his knuckles. That inner weight gets heavier, and my heart bleeds a little more, a surge of disappointment at knowing he’d taken drugs. The Jake I loved didn’t do those things anymore, and I don’t like that he’s admitted it.
“I didn’t say no to a life with you. I didn’t say no to marriage. I said it was all happening so fast, and I was scared.” I leave my focus on his hands. They’re sitting on his knees. It’s a better, safer view than his green eyes deeply boring into me.