The Words We Leave Unspoken(51)
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his eyebrows pulled in as he continues to stroke my hair.
I shake my head and bite down on my lower lip, my eyes still wet with tears. I don’t even know where to start, my guilt stealing my words.
“Dammit Gwen,” he says, choked with emotion as he sits back in his chair, the muscles in his jaw pulled tight.
“Why can’t you let me help you? You don’t have to do everything yourself. You don’t always have to be the strong one.” He runs his hand through his hair and leans forward again, closer to my face and whispers, “I love you, Gwen. You should have told me... you should’ve told me.”
“I was scared,” I mumble through my tears.
“I’m scared too,” he admits, shaking his head side to side as tears well in his eyes once again. “But, dammit, when are you going to trust that I can handle it. That I’m here for you. That it’s okay for you to need me. Huh, Gwen? When?” He’s getting angry but trying so hard to be in control.
“I do need you,” I say in a breathy rush. And as the words leave my lips, I realize that I have never told him that before. And I can’t recall ever actually thinking it, but it doesn’t make it any less true in this moment. I do need him. I always have and I need him now more than ever. Another sob bursts out of my chest.
John sits back again and says angrily, “I’m right here.” He points to himself, slapping his fingers hard against his chest. “I’m right here, Gwen,” he says again louder, nearly shouting, as tears fall down his cheeks. I flinch. “We’re a team. I’ve always been here for you. Why can’t you trust that?” he asks with such hurt in his expression that my heart breaks a little more. He draws in a deep breath, composing himself as he leans over and reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing each one of my knuckles.
“I do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I whisper in between my choking sobs.
And all I can think of is why after thirteen blissful years of marriage does it come down to this.
Chapter 29
Charley
I force myself out of the warmth and comfort of my bed where I want to stay and sleep the day away. In need of caffeine, I stumble to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. As I pour myself a steaming mug from the carafe, I spot a note on the counter from Grey.
I’m picking you up at eight and driving you to the hospital, no arguments.
He signed it “G” which reminds me of the bartender the night he took me out. Is that what people call him? His close friends, his brothers? I wonder if we have reached that point where we know each other well enough to call each other by a nickname. I have memorized every inch of his body, every cut, every dip, every scar and yet I feel an unfamiliar nudge in my chest from one simple alphabetical letter written in his handwriting.
After two cups of coffee and a shower, I feel a little more like myself as I sit on the sofa and stare out the window at the dreary morning. I’m anxious to get to the hospital and yet I dread it at the same time. I just want Gwen to be okay. I called my mother earlier this morning to check on Olivia and Max and ask her to bring John a few things when she returns. I think of Olivia and how scared she must be, old enough to be completely aware that something is wrong and smart enough to know she isn’t getting the entire truth about her mother. I vow to be strong for her and for Max. That’s what Gwen would do and what she needs me to be. There is a part of me that still feels like a five-year-old little girl, needing to lean on someone, waiting for someone else to tell me that everything is going to be okay. To take care of me. But another part of me knows that I need to be that someone for Gwen and John and the kids.
I hear a soft knock on the door, startling me from my thoughts. I hadn’t even noticed anyone walking toward the house but now I can see Grey’s flashy car parked at the curb out front.
I scramble to the door, pull it open and feel the air get sucked out my lungs at the sight of him. He’s freshly showered in faded jeans and a navy sweater, a white T-shirt hangs over the top of his waistband from underneath, and he’s wearing a pair of Converse tennis shoes. He looks so incredibly young and much less intimidating.
“Hi,” I say shyly.
“Hey,” he says and hands me a paper cup from a local coffee vendor. “Tall, skinny latte with one packet of Splenda?”
I look at him, again shocked that he would know how I take my coffee.
“I pay attention, remember,” he reminds me as I take the warm cup from his hand.
“Thanks,” I say and then step back so he can move in from the cold.
“Let me grab my jacket. I’m anxious to get to the hospital,” I say as I walk back to the bedroom to get my things. My head is a whirl of emotions, like an assortment of objects swirling around in a tornado. I can’t fixate on any one thing and that makes me feel jittery, nervous.
I find Grey standing in the living room, peering curiously at framed photographs that I have displayed on a sideboard table near the door. Pictures of Gwen and I at her wedding, school pictures of Olivia and Max that Gwen has given to me already adorned in the frames. He looks up when he hears me.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say as I slip my coat on and sling my handbag over my shoulder. The air feels awkward between us after last night. Grey’s hand is on the doorknob but I feel like I need to say something before we get in the car. The idea of sharing such a small, confined space with him and this tension fills me with unease.