His face tightens. I can even see a vein pulsing in his neck. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.
And it’s me who he’s angry with. Cheeky bastard.
That raises my hackles again. “Let me out of this goddamn car,” I demand through clenched teeth.
“No.”
“Did you just tell me no?”
“Sounded like it.”
“‘Sounded like it’! What the hell?” I seethe. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are? You’re an arrogant twat, Jake Wethers! I’m not one of your employees you can order around! God, you are just a big fat f**king arsehole!”
And I’m thirteen again, apparently.
“I deserve that,” he says. He actually looks like he’s holding back a smile, which pisses me off even more. “But I can’t let you out, Tru. It’s not safe.”
“What are you gonna do? Hold me hostage?”
“If I have to.”
He sounds so serious that I’m not wholly sure he’s kidding.
“I f**kin’ hate you,” I hiss.
Shit, where did that come from?
I see a flash of pain across his face. It doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel like a bitch.
“I deserve that as well.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Look, just let me get you safely home. Then give me ten minutes of your time, listen to what I have to say, and if you still want to leave, I’ll arrange for the jet to take you wherever you want to go. You just can’t be out there moving around alone without security. It’s not safe for you…or the baby.”
I sharp in a breath at the mention of the baby. Tears spring to my eyes, and then a sob escapes me. I clamp my hand to my mouth.
“Tru…” He reaches out to touch me.
I pull back from him. “Don’t touch me,” I whisper, my words watery with the tears.
“I’m so sorry…”
“Stop it!” I snap. “I don’t need your f**king pity or sympathy. Just leave me alone.”
Kicking off my shoes, I bring my feet up to rest on the edge of the seat. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I rest my cheek on my knee and stare out the window.
I hear his light exhalation of breath, but he doesn’t make another attempt to speak to me.
I hear the quiet sound of Linkin Park fade out in the background. The next thing I hear is Snow Patrol’s “Make This Go on Forever.”
Bastard.
Mother-crapping bastard.
I hate it when he does this. Plays a particular song to speak to me. To get my attention when I won’t listen to him.
But all he’s doing right now is just reminding me of how much he hurt me. How much he’s still hurting me.
I’m not playing his games. And I am most certainly not listening.
He can piss right off.
Lifting my weary head, I free an arm from around my leg and reach over and turn the music off.
Resuming my position, I spend the rest of the long, silent ride home trying to equal out the pain threatening to crush me to dust.
Jake pulls up on the drive outside our house and turns the engine off, leaving us with only the lights from the dash providing a small glow.
“Are you ready to hear me out, or do you need more time?” he asks quietly.
I lift my tired head and stare at him.
He looks torn and broken. I hate to see him this way. But I’m feeling torn and broken right now too.
“I’m listening,” I whisper, putting my feet to the floor, not wholly sure I am ready to hear what he’s got to say.
He turns his body toward me. “I’m so sorry for driving away and leaving you earlier.” His voice is soft, tentative. “My behaviour was cruel and stupid. Tru, I need you to know I would never hurt you on purpose.” He rubs his face roughly, driving his fingers into his hair. “God, the thought of you hurting—knowing I caused it—it’s like a knife through my f**kin’ heart. Believe me, if I could go back and have a do-over, tonight would go very differently.”
Surprised, I look up. “Differently, how?”
He glances down at his hands, and when he speaks, the heartfelt tone in his voice almost breaks me. “To start with, I’d tell you that I love you and that nothing matters to me but you. But I’m afraid. Terrified. God, Tru, the second you told me you were pregnant, my own childhood flashed before my eyes.” He breathes in deeply. “That’s why I ran: because of my own fears, not because I don’t want you or the baby.”
He wants the baby?
“What are you terrified of?” I ask quietly.
“That I’m not good enough to be a dad. That I’ll screw it up. That I’ll f**k everything up. That I’ll turn our child into a f**ked-up mess like I am. Just like my dad did to me.”
I’m just about to speak, to protest, to tell him he’s not a f**k-up, that he’s not Paul, he never could be, when he speaks again.
“But while I sat there thinking about all the negatives, I realised something.”
“Which was?” I’m all but on the edge of my seat.
“That I have you,” he says simply. “With you I know I can do it, because you’re my strength, Tru. You make me want to be a better man, a good dad to our baby. The best. And I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of you both,” I hear his voice break before he continues in a quieter tone. “I don’t want to be him, Tru. I don’t ever want our kid to experience what I did growing up, and that’s what will keep me straight. You’ll both keep me straight.”