His bacon crunches as he takes a bite. He leans forward, elbows on the table, chewing while his tongue swipes the corner of his lip before it curves into a smirk. “What makes you think I don’t have plans with someone else?”
“Hmm.” I narrow my eyes, pretending to think. “The fact that you just came down my throat three minutes after I took your cock in my mouth.”
He chuckles. “Alright, you win. But how about you do me in the Berkshires? We leave Thursday the twentieth. You know it’s expected I go. But it’s a hard pass if you’re not coming, because I’m not giving up blow jobs for skiing. And you know how much I love skiing.” He flashes that grin that’s impossible to refuse. “I’m hoping you’ll let me have both.”
“I work Thursdays. I’d have to see if someone can cover for me. It’s too late to request the time off, and I already took a lot of days while my dad was in the hospital.”
I’m not sure how I feel about this. Part of me wants to go. I love the Berkshires, but I’m not sure I’m ready for something like that. Not ready to dive back into family stuff so soon. Not ready to get attached again. Because what if this goes south and I lose them all over again? It was hard enough the first time.
I love Jensen’s family. I miss them.
Well, most of them. I’m dreading the day I have to face his mom again. I’d avoid her forever if I could, partly because I know I need to let go of the grudge I’ve been carrying for way too long. And because I know we’ll have to talk, really talk, if we’re ever going to get past it. And that won’t be a fun conversation.
Jensen’s doing it, though—having all the hard conversations. Making amends. Apologizing. Righting his wrongs. It’s humbling, removing the ego and admitting your faults. It’s hard.
And it sucks.
Christy wasn’t the only one in the wrong. I was too. Not for my blow-up, I think that was understandable. Justified, even. But for everything since. Every time she’s tried to make amends, I’ve shut her out. I haven’t been forgiving. I won’t let it go.
And that’s wrong of me. We all made mistakes. We all have regrets. We were all just trying to stay afloat, doing what we thought was best for Jensen and for ourselves in that moment. Each of us with our own reality. Our own perception.
There’s no manual for addiction. Sure, there are tools—Al-Anon, group therapy, the dos and don’ts.
Do give tough love.
Don’t enable.
Do let them fall so they can choose to get back up.
Don’t pick them up every time.
The problem is, most of us don’t follow the rules. Especially when it’s someone we love. We give second chances wrapped in hope. We call it love. We call it grace. But really? It’s fear. The fear of losing them. The fear of letting go.
His gaze is on me, hopeful, waiting patiently for me to answer. This means so much to him. I know it does. He’s trying so damn hard, making every effort to make up for the past. He’s been practically perfect. Everything I could ever want, and everything I’ve hoped for.
I let out a small sigh.I did tell him I wanted to try. That I was all in.“Let me ask around about Thursday. But either way, I’ll come Friday to Sunday. Maybe fly in Thursday night.”
He exhales, lips curving into that sexy grin that always gets me. Warmth shoots through me, the kind that swells in your chest when you stumble across an old photo you forgot you had. I love seeing him happy. Love giving him this win.
“Thanks, babe. Means a lot to me. And it’s a relief. Megan’s been on my ass. You know how she gets.”
I laugh. “I can only imagine.”
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, shaking his head.
We eat in comfortable silence for the next few minutes, until Jensen looks up again. “I have another question.”
“Shoot.”
“Will you come to New York next weekend? It’s Super Bowl. I’ll get your plane ticket. Actually…” He pauses, eyes steady on mine. “I really want you to just start using the joint account again.”
He sets down his fork. “Let me take care of you, babe. Come back home.”
Shit.My heart flutters, picking up speed, nerves rising in my throat.Why is my body reacting like this?
Memories flash—our apartment. Jensen. Me. Panic. Fear. Loss.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” I say slowly, feeling the resistance in my chest.
