Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(17)
He stared at her. She didn’t seem to be mocking him, she didn’t seem angry or bitter. In fact, much to his surprise, she appeared to have expected his answer.
“I lost everything,” he confirmed, then added quietly, “and because of me, so did you.”
This time, it was Chrissy who shook her head. “I still have my girls.”
Jase didn’t know how to respond to that other than to nod in agreement. It was the cold, hard truth. When it had all gone to shit, the girls had taken sides with their mother, barely acknowledging his existence even before they’d all left home. As much as it had stung, he hadn’t blamed them. He, more than anybody, hated what he’d done.
“For the longest time, I blamed you for everything,” she continued. “I hated you for lying to me, for betraying our marriage. Most of all, I hated you for destroying our family.
“But I’ve had a lot of time to think about . . . everything. And I’ve come to the realization that it wasn’t just your fault. The other women, Dorothy, I let that go on. I knew you weren’t happy, I’d always known, yet I chose to ignore it instead of dealing with it. It was only after I’d found out she was pregnant . . .” She trailed off, her eyes glistening with tears as she turned away from him.
“Chris,” he said softly. “You don’t have to—”
“No,” she insisted, sitting up straighter and wiping at her eyes. “I do. I need you to know how sorry I am. I asked Maribelle here for a reason, to give you some time together. I’d hoped . . .”
She swallowed hard before speaking again. “It’s almost Christmas, Jason, and I’d hoped that it being the holidays and seeing each other would help somehow.”
“The girls don’t need me,” he said, nearly choking over his words as he fought back a rising wave of intense emotion. Fucking hell, he was so sensitive lately. Hopefully it wasn’t an aging thing, because if it was, if he made it to sixty, he’d be a weepy f*cking mess. Worse than a goddamn woman.
Chrissy reached across the table and surprising him, covered his left hand with hers. For a moment, he could only stare down at their hands, joined yet both without their wedding bands, and another wave of regret crashed through him.
“They do,” she whispered, squeezing her fingers over his. “And it’s your job to show them that.”
Jase turned to look outside the room, to where his daughter was standing. With her arms folded across her chest, her face a mask of impenetrable stone, she could have easily passed for one of the guards. One of the not-so-manly-looking guards.
“I’ll try,” he said, turning back to Chrissy.
She gave him a sad smile. “That’s all any of us can do now.”
? ? ?
“You don’t need to walk me to my car,” Maribelle muttered, picking up her pace. “I’m not a little girl.”
Jase quickened his own stride through the prison parking lot. He didn’t want to fight with her, yet knew no matter what he said, it would turn into an argument. It always did. Scrubbing a calloused hand across his grizzled jaw, he tried to think of something to say to her that wouldn’t set her off.
“Pretty big storm headed this way,” he called out, “and you got a long drive ahead of you. You got snow tires on that piece of shit you’re drivin’?”
Maribelle stopped walking so abruptly, he nearly barreled right over her. Backing up a couple of feet, he braced himself for what he knew was coming.
“Stop it!” she hissed. “Just stop pretending you give a shit about me!”
Feeling both exasperated and exhausted, he lifted his hands in a gesture of peace.
“Belle,” he pleaded. “I’m just tryin’ to talk to you, is all. It’s Christmas Eve, baby. Throw your old man a bone, for shit’s sake.”
Maribelle’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. “You’re right!” she shouted. “It’s Christmas Eve! And like usual I get to spend it without my mother!
“Whose fault is that?” she continued. “Whose f*cking fault is that?”
Jase opened his mouth, not knowing what the hell he was going to say, but knowing that something, anything had to be said to defuse her anger before they had prison security descending upon them. But Maribelle beat him to it.
“Yours!” she screamed, her hands clenching into small fists. “You ruined our family, you ruined everything, and now you’re a sad old drunk who thinks just because it’s Christmastime you have some right to talk to me about snow tires? As if you even give a shit! All you’ve ever give a shit about is that f*cking club and that whore of yours!”
“Keep your damn voice down!” he whispered harshly, “before you get slapped with cuffs and I’m bailin’ your ass outta jail.”
Even as angry as she looked, he could still see the sadness, the disappointment she was trying to hide from him. It reminded of him of her as a child, learning to ride her bike without the training wheels. Over and over again she’d fallen, skinning her shins and knees, but she had been a determined little girl. Even when he’d been ready to throw in the towel, not wanting to bring her home to her mother covered in blood, she’d grit her teeth, dry her eyes, and get back up on that damn bike. The memories only served to worsen his mood. He didn’t have nearly enough of them because he’d never been around.