"Hey," I said, positioning myself beside the machine and moving into his line of sight. "What is this about?"
Sam squinted at the letter as he slowed to a walk. "Is there a problem?" he asked, panting.
My eyes wide, I looked between him and the letter. "Tell me you didn't."
He reached for a towel and rubbed it over his face and chest before responding. "Do you want the truth," he started, "or do you want me to tell you I didn't handle this?"
"Handle this?" I repeated. "I'm something that needshandling?"
"Tiel," he growled, his stare pointed. "Stop."
"I'm trying to be calm about this," I said, my voice rising as it quivered. "But here's a list of the things I do not understand right now. First, you stalked my stuff. How did you even find my balance and account numbers? I mean, that's—"
"Tiel," he interrupted.
"Sam! I'm going to say what I need to say, and then you can be shirtless and sweaty and glare at me with your thick lumberjack arms crossed, but not until I'm finished."
He lifted an eyebrow and leaned against the treadmill. He gestured toward me and then folded his arms over his chest, forcing me to gaze at his taut forearms. And chest. And goddamn it, a shirtless Sam was a weapon of panty destruction. "By all means. Continue."
"Okay, so you have the bright idea to pay offmyloans without talking tome," I said. "What am I supposed to say right now? Thank you?"
Sam shook his head and shrugged, and that gesture tripped me far into the freak-out zone.
"I like doing things my own way, on my own time," I said, and the words were coming fast and frantic, and the sting of accusation was heavy. I knew I needed to throttle back, but I couldn't. I'd fought too hard for my self-sufficiency. I'd worked too long to claim my independence. I'd surrendered so much of myself to this man, and trusted him implicitly, but I didn't want himkeepingme. "I don't appreciate you swooping in and deciding that you can just…just…wifeme."
He rubbed his forehead, chuckling. "Are you using wife as averb?"
"That's what you want to talk about right now? Parts of speech?"
"I'm notwifeingyou. That's ridiculous, and I think you know it. And are you forgetting that we're getting married in six days, and anything that isn't already shared between us will definitely be shared then?" he said, his hand waving at the room. "You're not allowed to have a problem with it."
"I'm notallowed?" I shrieked. "You are fucking outrageous right now."
"Oh, I'm outrageous? You're the one acting like we're getting married and starting a family, but we'll live fully independent lives otherwise. Do you think I haven't noticed that youstillkeep the credit cards I gave you in your jewelry box?"
Oh my fucking God. Not the credit cards again.
Sam had given them to me after I moved in, and I figured it was like when your parents handed over a credit card when you went to a high school marching band competition in western Kentucky and it was to be used in extreme circumstances only. But when the statement arrived last week, he noticed that I had yet to make any charges. That happened to be the same day he came home to find me mending some fallen dress hems and coloring in a bleach spot on a black skirt with a Sharpie, and he went a little apeshit.
Sam earned a lot more money than I did, and as often was the case with people for whom money wasn't an issue, he didn't see the problem with that. He didn't feel any inequity with what I brought to the table, but I felt it. I hadn't stopped feeling it.
"I don't want to need you," I cried, and I hated those words before I finished saying them. His eyes crinkled as he flinched, and I deflated, torn between tending my pride and soothing the hurt I'd created.
8
Sam
December
Iblinked at Tiel, my arms crossed and my jaw tight enough to trigger a muscle spasm. Blinking was all I could do to prevent myself from darting off this treadmill, throwing her over my shoulder, and marching up to the bedroom, but we'd long since agreed that real issues were talked out, not fucked out.
And this was a real issue. I'd been meaning to discuss paying off her loans because I didn't want it shaking out like this. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the way of conversational time between us right now. I was knee-deep with my restoration in Brookline and supporting Riley through bumps with the Turlan project, and Tiel was trying to put a lid on this semester while burning off the open-handed slap of her family's dismissal.
Plus planning a surprise wedding and honeymoon, which wasn't especially easy on fewer than four weeks of prep time.
We stared at each other for several moments before I conceded. Only part of this was about paying her loans. The rest was tangled up in her struggle to believe that anyone would ever be good to her.
Nodding, I said, "I get that you don't want someone taking care of you because all the people who were supposed to do that turned out to be huge douche-waffles, but I didn't do it to have something to lord over you. I did it because I wanted you to have one less thing to worry about right now, and you're going to be my wife. I don't wantmy wifeworrying about things I can solve for her."
