“She crossed a line. I shut it down. Hard.”
“How…how did she cross the line?”
Did she kiss him? Did he kiss her back? Did they do more than that? Did he touch her? Did he?—
“I was talking to her, and she put her hands on me. Like you know, on the arm, and then on my shoulders.”
What the fuck?
“I told her to stop it. That she’s making me uncomfortable.”
Relief makes me want to put my head down on the dining table.
I swallow against the knot in my throat. “And?”
“And?” His eyes darken. “She was a…I’m sorry for using the B word, Jayne, but she was a bitch about it.”
“How?” This wasn’t the direction I thought the conversation would take.
He tells me what happened and what he said, and what she said. It’s blow-by-blow. It’s honest, and he’s seething. He’s angry, more with himself than Tory.
I just stare at him, trying to process.
“Were you…ah…were you tempted?” My voice is steady, but my pulse isn’t.
“To slap her?” he asks, and a chuckle bursts out of me.
“Yeah. I was. But you know…can’t hit a woman. Seriously, Jayne, when did being friendly become code for I want to fuck you?”
My lips twitch a little, but I hold back the smile. He’s not charming his way out of this.
He wants a pat on the back for staying true to his marriage? Well, fuck that.
“Is this a good time for me to sayI told you so?”
He smirks at me. “Yeah, it’s a good time.”
“You know”—I grin despite myself—“some people would think it’s petty to say that under the circumstances, but I’m happy to let you know that I’m not one of those people.”
Now, his eyes fill with amusement. He hadn’t thought this conversation would go like this either. I understand his surprise. If this were a few weeks ago, I’d have been livid, but his trying so hard is…well, it makes it easier to forgive him.
And how long will this feeling last if you keep resenting him for not showing up, Jayne?
“So, Dr. Prescott, I told you so about Tory, and you were an ass to not believe me.”
He takes my hands in his and kisses them each. “Yes, my love, I was.” He studies me, as if attempting to discern how Ireallyfeel. “You’re not angry?”
“No.” I shake my head. “But…I am tired, Rhys.”
He leans forward and rests his forehead against mine. “Jayne, I’m trying. I’m trying to do better, to show up to?—”
“I know,” I cut in as I pull away from him. “But trying isn’t the same as being here, Rhys.”
“Jesus, Jayne.” He pushes his chair back, runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t win with you. I tell you the truth, I do the work, I fix what I can, and it’s still not enough.”
So…that went south in a minute, didn’t it? If this is the seesaw our relationship is on, can we succeed?
“I’m not asking you to win.” I clasp my handstogether because suddenly I am shaking with fear that our marriage is over. “I’m asking you to be there for me.”
