Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.
I rushed to close the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. He went rigid in my arms at first, like he didn’t know what the hell a hug was for. Then he made this wail that sent goosebumps down my spine before he burrowed his face in my neck and just cried.
I don’t know how long we stood there in the closet, me holding him and him crying. But I had a feeling this was the first time Mal had just let go and let himself actually grieve.
I felt bad for laying into him a few minutes ago. This wasn’t about me. I should be here for him. That was my new job, right?
God, I was a jerk.
After a few minutes—or ten, I wasn’t exactly keeping track—Mal stood upright and swiped at his face.
“Just…Just don’t go, okay?” he mumbled, avoiding my eyes again. “I really do want to make this work.”
“Of course, Mal. I’m so sorry for lashing out at you. I just really thought—”
“No, I deserved it. I’ve been an ass today. I’ll try to do better, I swear.”
“Okay,” I murmured. “Um, how about you go wash up, and I’ll heat up dinner?”
“Sounds good, baby. Thanks.”
But he didn’t even touch me as he left the closet for the bathroom.
And it was hard for me not to be hurt by it.
“Baby steps,” I told myself as I headed for the kitchen.
He was probably just embarrassed for losing it like that in front of me. Some men were weird about crying.
We just had to give ourselves time.
Before I reached the kitchen, the gate/doorbell buzzed again.
It kinda felt like I’d fallen into a dark British comedy, and I had no idea what my lines were, while everyone around me continued like this was normal.
It was all just so surreal.
“Judy!” A deep male voice called from the living room.
Cue act two.
Chapter 18
Mal
It felt like all my emotions were bubbling just under the surface. Back in the day, it’d been easier to reach for something to dull the insanity. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Now I had to face and feel my emotions like a regular person and just…cope.
It fucking sucked.
I really didn’t know how to feel about having fallen apart in front of Saylor. I just knew I didn’t want her to leave.
But I also didn’t know how to deal with having her here.
Life was a bitch like that sometimes.
All my relationships previously, even my first marriage, had been very surface—all about sex or partying or fame. But partying was out and Saylor didn’t seem interested in fame—especially after that scene at the airport. Her need to cook dinner and…nest, I guess for lack of a better word, was so far out of my realm. I didn’t really know how to do real.
The program had given me some tools about confronting my feelings, but between my new marriage, Gio’s death, and managing my sobriety, I just felt so lost.
