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Authors: Helenkay Dimon
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heart forever.
He blew out a long agitated breath. “I’m tired.”
“Right.” What had she expected? They’d spent most of the evening making love and were not in the right state of mind to deal with the tough decisions they had to make. “We can talk about this later.”
He wove his fingers together and clenched them until his knuckles turned white. “I mean of this conversation. It exhausts me every time we have it. You want something—something you can’t even define—and when I can’t figure out how to get it for you, you pick a fight.”
“That’s not true.”
His palms fell open. “Then just tell me what you need from me.”
Everything . . . nothing. She really didn’t know the solution for finding the right guy at fifteen, before she was prepared for him or had lived the life she wanted to live.
“This really isn’t about you,” she whispered, hoping he’d believe her this time.
He raised his hand. “Hold up.”
“It’s about—”
“Stop.”
The words died on her lips. “Okay.”
“You want to go off and find yourself, or whatever you call it.
Fine. Do it. But don’t hide behind some dumbass line guys fall back on to dump women who cling too hard.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“If you need to leave, then go.”
A hot ball of grief lodged in her throat. “I don’t want to.”
“Honestly, Jennifer. You don’t know what the hell you want.” He cocked his head to the side and stared at her as if he was reasoning out the world’s problem. “Strike that. You know one thing. You know I’m not enough for you.”
Right now. The words echoed through her as her heart shredded in half. She could hear the ripping in her ears and feel the tear right through her skin. She looked down at her pink slippers, half expecting to see blood on the floor.
“All I’m asking for is some time,” she said.
He slid off the stool and stood up. “You can have it. Take all you need.”
Every cell inside her screamed to grab onto him and not let go. “I don’t want to lose you.”
He stopped as he hit the doorway to his bedroom. “I’m not going to hold you where you don’t want to be.”
“It’s not like that.”
“It is.” He rubbed his eyes, stared at the ceiling—did everything he could not to glance in her direction. “Remember one thing.”
“What?”
“I’m not the one who walked away. One day I might not be here when you come back.” Then he slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Nine
If you need to move on, move on.
Don’t dawdle.
—Grandma Gladys, The Duchess
J ENNIFER CRIED FOR THREE DAYS . T HIS MORNING SHE moved like a zombie and wished she lacked a heart like one.
Heather shoved a bowl of granola in front of her sister. “Jennifer, you have to eat something.”
Tracie hovered in the doorway with her keys in her hand. “I can go out and get—”
“I’m not hungry.” Jennifer appreciated the concern and the coddling, but she needed to grieve. And the idea of eating made her queasy. Doing anything sounded pretty awful.
“This isn’t healthy.” Heather played with the spoon, letting it clank against the side of the bowl.
“And you’re the dumper, not the dumpee.”
Heather shot their friend a wide-eyed, what-the-hell look. “Tracie, that’s not helping.”
“It’s the truth.” Tracie took the seat across from Jennifer. “Isn’t this what you want? You asked for space, and he gave it to you. I don’t see the problem.”
“Yes . . .” Jennifer shook her head. “No.”
Leaving Paul had never been the point. Hurting him burned a hole through her stomach. The tightness across his cheeks and pained expression on his lips. She had a hard time handling all of it.
The second he’d stepped into the bedroom after their argument and shut her out, all she wanted to do was run to him and apologize. Only the fear of sending him a horrible mixed message and cutting him even deeper had kept her rooted to the
He blew out a long agitated breath. “I’m tired.”
“Right.” What had she expected? They’d spent most of the evening making love and were not in the right state of mind to deal with the tough decisions they had to make. “We can talk about this later.”
He wove his fingers together and clenched them until his knuckles turned white. “I mean of this conversation. It exhausts me every time we have it. You want something—something you can’t even define—and when I can’t figure out how to get it for you, you pick a fight.”
“That’s not true.”
His palms fell open. “Then just tell me what you need from me.”
Everything . . . nothing. She really didn’t know the solution for finding the right guy at fifteen, before she was prepared for him or had lived the life she wanted to live.
“This really isn’t about you,” she whispered, hoping he’d believe her this time.
He raised his hand. “Hold up.”
“It’s about—”
“Stop.”
The words died on her lips. “Okay.”
“You want to go off and find yourself, or whatever you call it.
Fine. Do it. But don’t hide behind some dumbass line guys fall back on to dump women who cling too hard.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“If you need to leave, then go.”
A hot ball of grief lodged in her throat. “I don’t want to.”
“Honestly, Jennifer. You don’t know what the hell you want.” He cocked his head to the side and stared at her as if he was reasoning out the world’s problem. “Strike that. You know one thing. You know I’m not enough for you.”
Right now. The words echoed through her as her heart shredded in half. She could hear the ripping in her ears and feel the tear right through her skin. She looked down at her pink slippers, half expecting to see blood on the floor.
“All I’m asking for is some time,” she said.
He slid off the stool and stood up. “You can have it. Take all you need.”
Every cell inside her screamed to grab onto him and not let go. “I don’t want to lose you.”
He stopped as he hit the doorway to his bedroom. “I’m not going to hold you where you don’t want to be.”
“It’s not like that.”
“It is.” He rubbed his eyes, stared at the ceiling—did everything he could not to glance in her direction. “Remember one thing.”
“What?”
“I’m not the one who walked away. One day I might not be here when you come back.” Then he slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Nine
If you need to move on, move on.
Don’t dawdle.
—Grandma Gladys, The Duchess
J ENNIFER CRIED FOR THREE DAYS . T HIS MORNING SHE moved like a zombie and wished she lacked a heart like one.
Heather shoved a bowl of granola in front of her sister. “Jennifer, you have to eat something.”
Tracie hovered in the doorway with her keys in her hand. “I can go out and get—”
“I’m not hungry.” Jennifer appreciated the concern and the coddling, but she needed to grieve. And the idea of eating made her queasy. Doing anything sounded pretty awful.
“This isn’t healthy.” Heather played with the spoon, letting it clank against the side of the bowl.
“And you’re the dumper, not the dumpee.”
Heather shot their friend a wide-eyed, what-the-hell look. “Tracie, that’s not helping.”
“It’s the truth.” Tracie took the seat across from Jennifer. “Isn’t this what you want? You asked for space, and he gave it to you. I don’t see the problem.”
“Yes . . .” Jennifer shook her head. “No.”
Leaving Paul had never been the point. Hurting him burned a hole through her stomach. The tightness across his cheeks and pained expression on his lips. She had a hard time handling all of it.
The second he’d stepped into the bedroom after their argument and shut her out, all she wanted to do was run to him and apologize. Only the fear of sending him a horrible mixed message and cutting him even deeper had kept her rooted to the
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