Rosewood – Part 12
“Are you happy here…with me?”
The silence that followed was
oppressive. Jess could hear the blood rushing through her ears, the unsteady
thump of her heart; her utter stupidity was a riptide, pulling at her, dragging
her under a haze of embarrassment and fear. Why couldn’t she have kept her
mouth shut? Why did she always have to ruin things –
Chris pulled in a deep breath, his
chest lifting, eyes widening in obvious alarm, before he said, “What?”
She couldn’t look at him; she
glanced away, attempting to swallow the lump in her throat.
“Are you serious?”
She took a shaky breath. “Well are
you?”
He closed the distance between them
much faster than a man who’d had recent knee surgery should have been able to. His
hands hovered over her in a useless gesture before he took hold of her upper
arms and turned her to face him. His face, when she dared look at it, was
etched with worry and confusion. “Am I happy?” he repeated, sounding
dumbfounded. “Where the hell did that
come from? Is this some kinda pregnancy hormone thing?”
“The hormones aren’t helping.” Her
voice was a small, choked thing that she hated. “But…” A deep breath gave her
courage. She faced him fully. “I am
serious. After everything that’s happened…and with the way we rushed into
things…and the stress…my mom said – ”
“Oh, Christ,” he muttered. “Your mom
said? And you listened to her?”
“I wasn’t trying to. You know how
she won’t let up when she’s dead set on something.”
“And she was dead set that…I wasn’t
happy?” The hurt in his voice wasn’t disguised well enough.
“She thinks we need to take a
vacation,” she said in a rush. “And maybe we do, but all I know is” – she wet
her suddenly paper-dry lips – “a vacation won’t fix things if they’re broken.
If we…”
He studied her a long moment before
he released her and turned away. She watched him go to the table and ease down
into his usual chair, bad leg extended before him.
Jess wanted to kick herself. Every
time she opened her mouth, she let loose a fresh stream of stupidity. Telling
him that she’d talked about him with her mother was the stupidest thing yet.
“Chris.” She walked to stand beside
him. “I didn’t mean to – ”
“You wanted to talk about this in
the middle of a party?”
“No, I didn’t want to.”
“But obviously, I look so miserable
you just can’t help it.”
“Chris,” she said again, struggling
for the right words. “Just listen to me a minute.” She went to sit beside him; her
eyes went to his hand on the table top, the way one large index finger traced a
crack in the wood surface. She didn’t reach for him, but she wanted to.
His look was expectant in a scornful
way when his dark eyes came to hers. “Listening,” he prodded. The gentleness
had left his voice, and in its place, mockery. He sounded like his older
brother.
Jess pulled in a deep breath, called
herself an idiot, and launched into the waist-deep tangle of worries that had
piled up over the last two months. “You took on a lot when you married me. You
got this – this instant family, without any chance to adjust. Wife and baby and
stepson and a whole pack of in-laws. That’s more than most men could stand for
any span of time –”
“That’s bullshit,” he interrupted,
scowling.
“It’s – ”
“Bullshit,” he repeated. “Don’t act
like your family’s extra special complicated and no one can stand to be around
them.”
“I’m only saying – ”
“You’re saying you expect me to
bail.” She’d never heard him sound like this; too late, she realized she’d
called his loyalty into question. A former Ranger from a Marine family, who’d
suffered through countless knee operations, who’d been a forty-two-year-old
career bachelor – and she’d insinuated that he couldn’t handle a little stress,
a little family pressure. She’d suggested, after all he’d dealt with –
gracefully, no less – that he couldn’t deal with her. “You know what” – his
voice was awful, and he started to
push up from the table – “if you’re sick of me, just say it, but don’t act like
–”
“No!” She snatched his hand out of
the air, her slender fingers curling tight around his. “No, baby,” she pleaded.
“Wait a minute. Please.”
He stared at her, planes of his face
harsh with anger…and hurt. His feelings were hurt more than anything, but he’d
be damned if he told her that.
She pulled in a trembling breath.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…Can I start again?”
He didn’t respond.
“I just want to make sure you’re
happy. I don’t want you to start wishing you were somewhere else. I don’t want
you to resent me and me not even know about it.”
“So I resent you now?”
“No! I mean, I don’t know. I hope
not.” She exhaled in a rush. “Can you humor a crazy pregnant woman?”
He pulled his hand from her grasp,
but stayed, still staring at her in a way that made her want to shrink down
into the collar of her sweater. “This is because of Dylan.” It wasn’t a
question.
It also spiked her temper in a way
she hadn’t expected. She felt heat surge beneath her skin as her head snapped
in his direction. “This has nothing
to do with Dylan,” she bit out. “This is about my mom picking the worst moment
to remind me that I don’t know anything about holding onto a husband.” Her
words gained momentum, tumbling one after the next, and she was powerless to
rein them in. “This is about me being a paranoid idiot, because I love you worlds more than I ever even thought about loving Dylan, and I don’t
care that I lost him, but I can’t
lose you. This is about Tyler calling you ‘Dad’–” Her voice cracked. “And when
I watch you with him, and I think about this whole mess with your leg and how
upset you were about it…” She shook her head and glanced away, eyes welling up.
“I won’t let you go over something stupid,” she said fiercely, tears clouding
her vision, clogging her throat. “I asked you if you’re happy so that if you’re
not, I can make you happy.”
Out of breath, she fell silent,
blinking hard against the tears, banding her arms across her stomach; she could
feel the way it was beginning to change, that first slight rounding that was the
baby. She’d taken a page out of her rash little sister’s book, blurting out
exactly what she thought. It had always worked for Jo, but that was with Tam,
and they all knew he operated in his own, rash way. Chris might not –
His large, callused hands were
gentle on her upper arms. He’d moved behind her chair – she hadn’t noticed –
and now pulled her up to her feet, as carefully as he would lift Maddie.
“Jessica.” The way he said her name,
the blend of waning anger, frustration, and tenderness, was her final undoing.
When he turned her into his arms,
she went, her own arms stealing around his waist, pressing her face against the
soft, threadbare front of his shirt.
He stroked the back of her head,
fingers tangling in her hair. He was the solid, silent wall she needed to lean
against while she wrested control of her emotions. After a long moment, he
said, “I’m not happy all the time. Nobody is, sweetheart. But that doesn’t mean
I’m not happy.”
“I’m sorry about what I said before,”
she said against his chest. “I didn’t mean – ”
“I know.”
Because even if he was the one with
the surgical history, she was the damaged one, and he knew that better than
anyone, better than her mother.
“I don’t like the beach,” he said,
hand trailing down her back. “But my dad’s got a hunting cabin in Blue Ridge.
That’s not much of a vacation – ”
She sighed, knotting her fingers in the back
of his shirt. “It’s perfect.”
Out
in the hall, Jo pulled away from the swinging door where she’d had her ear
pressed. Feeling relieved – the quiet murmuring of voices was always a good sign
– she turned to rejoin the party…and almost ran into her husband. Tam caught
her by the shoulders with his wrists, settled her balance, and started to duck
around her.
“Whoa.” She grabbed a handful of the
front of his Zeppelin t-shirt and pulled him down the hall with her. Tried to
anyway. “You can’t go in there.”
He had a crumpled pack of smokes in
one hand and a beer in the other.
“Plus, what happened to being on the
patch?”
“That’s only for when Georgia isn’t
losing to Florida.” He deftly shook her off. “I’ll quit tomorrow.”
“Yeah, just in time to tell the
girls you’ll die of lung cancer one of these days – hey, I said you can’t go in
there.”
“I know. Why not?”
“Jess and Chris.”
“What about them?” He grinned as she
hooked a hand in his belt and made an attempt to tow him that went nowhere. “Why
are we whispering?”
“Would you just come on?”
He followed her back to the gallery;
Jo was struck by how very high-school this whole exchange was becoming, and
didn’t care; it was kind of fun. “They’re having a…couple moment,” she
explained.
He wrinkled his nose and shook a
cigarette out one-handed, taking it between his teeth.
She reached up and snatched it out
of his mouth. His black brows jumped, but she could see the smile he was
holding back. “Oh, you wanna go there?”
“Are you listening to me? Don’t go
in the kitchen.”
“They’re not going at it on the
table, are they? ‘Cause I eat there, and I’m very not okay with that.”
When he made a reach for the
cigarette, she tucked it behind her ear. “If they are, knowing Jess, she’ll
Lysol it afterward.”
“Don’t put pictures in my head.”
“Tam.”
Jo folded her arms; he’d had one too many beers, but he knew when to quit,
sobering, though a smile still lingered in his eyes. “They’re going through a
rough spot,” she said, keeping her voice low in case someone stepped out of the
great room. “They need to get some one-on-one time, and they’re talking
vacation. Which I’m totally on board with.”
He nodded. “Right, so…I’ll smoke on
the front porch instead.”
“You’re not hearing me: they’re
going on vacation.”
“Yeah.”
“And that means we’ll be running the
inn by ourselves.”
Eyes widening, he popped the tab on
his beer. “Well,” he said calmly, “shit.”
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