I want to argue. Tell her she’s overreacting. But her face, which is resolute, stops me. She’s already made up her mind.
“So…what now?” I ask.
“I can’t think about the future,” she says, her voice reed thin. “Not tonight. I can’t do…thinkingtonight.”
“Okay,” I say quietly.
“Can you…,” she hesitates, “sleep in the guest room tonight?”
I gape at her. “No. Hell no.”
“Please, Rhys. I need space. I can’t share a bed with you tonight. Not after hearing that you…hate our lives.”
“Ineversaid that.” For all the times I shut down conversations she wanted to have, this is karma. Now I’m begging for her to talk to me, and she won’t, can’t.
The ache’s plain on her face. There’s no hiding it.
“Jayne, I was venting.” I’m desperate for her to understand. “People do that. It wasn’t about wanting out—it was about needing to breathe.”
Her eyes soften just a fraction. “I know. And my asking you to sleep in another bed tonight is me needing to breathe.”
How am I supposed to argue that?
I offer a small nod. “Okay.” Then I grab her hands again. “But only for one night, Jayne. Then we talk.”
She gives me a long, deliberate look. “Okay.”
I kiss her forehead. She lets me. It’s grace.
I head for the door. I pause, hand on the handle.
“I’ll do better,” I tell her again.
Her reply is barely a whisper. “Me, too.”
Downstairs, the house is dark and still. I pour a glass of water, but my hands are shaking too much to drink it.
She’s upstairs, probably crying. And I’m down here, pacing my own damn house like a stranger.
I didn’t cheat. I didn’t lie. I just…talked. Vomited bullshit. Like people do when they’re drowning.
But maybe that’s the problem. We’ve both been drowning, and instead of reaching for each other, we started thrashing in opposite directions.
I walk into the guest room and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.
Tomorrow, I’ll fix it. I’ll find a way to make her see this isn’t the end.
It can’t be.
Because I’m Rhys Prescott—the man who can bring a heart back from the edge.
And I’ll be damned if I can’t do the same for the love of my life.
CHAPTER 11
Jayne
“How do I talk about Rhys with you?” I ask Iris as I lie alone in bed.
