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“If you want to help me, you could clean up after yourself once in a while.”

“Are you serious? I work all day. The least you could do is have the house clean and dinner ready for me when I get here.” I blink, unable to believe he just said that to me. What is this? 1950?

“I work, too.” I’m seething.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah, in a bar.”

I feel very small. I’ve always loved working in the bar but he’s making me ashamed of it. Should I be doing something else? I push away my doubts and cling to my anger at his almost pre-historic idea of gender roles.

“Fuck you,” I bark before turning and marching back into the bedroom. I throw my body onto the bed and he comes stomping in a second later.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

I shoot up to a sitting position and glare at him.

“You! I like working in the bar and your job is no better than mine!”

He throws his head back and laughs loudly. “Uh, babe, I save lives.”

“You write parking tickets.”

His laughter dies quickly. “You have no respect for me at all.”

“That’s not true!” Of course, I respect him. I didn’t mean what I said, I know his job is important but he got me so mad that it just came out.

“Yes, it is and maybe if you did a better job around here, I would respect you but you’re not even trying. If you really loved me, you would want to do those things to take care of me.”

I’ve reached my limit and I know I need to get out of here and get some air. I stand up from the bed and brush past him out into the living room without uttering a word. Just as I’m slipping my shoes on and grabbing my keys off the table, he comes barreling out of the bedroom.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“The fuck you are.”

I’m reaching for the doorknob when he grabs my arm and spins me around. He pins me against the door and glares down at me.

“Let me go, Ryan,” I say calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Never.”

“Let me go.”

“Not a chance.”

I begin to feel trapped. All I want is to get on the other side of that door. I just want to be able to think for a minute. I push against his chest and he grabs my wrist, pinning it above my head. He squeezes so hard that pain shoots down my arm and I yelp. His face softens as he looks down at me but he doesn’t let me go.

“Do you see what you make me do?” His eyes flick up to my hand. “If you would just listen to me, none of this would happen. All I want to do is help you be better but you’re just so damn stubborn and dramatic.” His voice is soft, caring almost, and for the first time in my life, I question my own sanity. Did I do this? Is there something wrong with me?

“I love you so much and all you do is fight me. Why? Why are you always fighting me?” he asks, his voice almost pleading.

“I’m sorry,” I answer in a complete daze. The pressure around my wrist disappears and he wraps his arms around me, capturing my mouth in a kiss.

“I forgive you.” When he pulls away, I look up at him. A storm of emotion brewing inside me. What the hell is wrong with me? Something doesn’t feel right but I can’t put my finger on it.

What is going on?

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