Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(66)
My hands push on his chest. He resists me. I push harder. He lets me go, both of us breathless.
“Say it.”
That sharply-angled jaw of his clenches again. “Say what?”
“Everything.”
Tipping his chin down, he scratches the back of his neck. “What are you talking about?” His voice is thick.
“I can take it. I’m stronger than you think I am.”
He turns back to the boxes, shaking his head. “I’m going to carry these boxes out to the garage. Will you hold open the door?”
“Say it.”
He ignores me, stacking two boxes on top of each other and picking them up. I back up to the door, pressing my back against it.
“Open the door.”
“Say it.”
“Swayze, open the damn door.”
“Say. It.”
“You don’t know what you’re—”
“Say it!”
“I HATE THAT YOU’RE STAYING!”
Clunk.
The boxes hit the floor.
“I hate that this life isn’t good enough for you. I hate that you’re choosing a life you know nothing about over a life with me. I hate that this small part of me actually believes that you were her. I hate the way you look at him. I hate that you had that stupid picture of him. I hate that you let him lay one fucking finger on you. And I …” He blinks and a tear slides down his cheek. “I want so desperately to hate you, but I don’t. I love you…” he swallows hard, nostrils flaring as he tries to control his emotions “…and loving you right now is incredibly fucking miserable.”
Maybe … just maybe dying and trying on a new life wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Maybe I would get a life without Doug Mann. A life without memories of the one before. Maybe I’d get a normal life. A normal childhood. A normal name. And I would find normal love. Maybe a boring job and a doting husband. Two kids and a dog. Simple and average would feel extraordinary.
I would have stellar self-esteem. No pity parties. No drama. Just … beautifully boring.
I’m sorry won’t cut it. I’m not even sure where the apology would start. Lord knows there would never be an end to it. I think the “excuse me for living” catchall is no longer accepted.
“I’ll leave,” I say with total defeat.
Griffin steps over the boxes and presses his hands to the door above my head, caging me with his body but not touching me. His angry breath brushes my forehead. “No. I will tear myself away. I’ll let you go.” His raspy words take several layers off my already raw heart. “But not yet.”
My gaze meets his and now I let him kiss me like he hates loving me. I let him strip me like he hates my clothes. I let him possess my body even if I feel his hatred for wanting it so badly.
And then my mind goes numb. I react to the physical and let go of all the hatred and all the things in this moment that don’t serve any purpose.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
We finish our shopping.
We celebrate Christmas with family like our relationship isn’t dead.
Griffin gives me a tutorial on all the important things I need to know about the house, like where the breaker box is located.
Then …
It’s moving day.
I wake up to the aroma of hazelnut and an empty spot next to me in bed. After a long goodbye last night, I thought he’d at least let me wake up one last time in his arms. Instead, I settle for one last walk down the hallway to his good morning smile and outstretched hand with my mug of coffee.
It’s always the little things.
“Add waking up to hazelnut to the list of things I’m going to miss.” I stop in the kitchen, looking around. There’s a pot of coffee with the warmer turned on and an empty mug next to it. “Griff?” I peek back down the hallway. The bathroom door is open, light off.
I stand in the middle of the living room and look around. His coat is not on the hook by the door. None of his shoes or boots are by the door.
My heart slows.
No.
I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat.
No.
My feet take cautious steps back to the bedroom. His pillow is gone, pillowcase folded in its absence. The two suitcases that were at the end of the bed last night are gone.
No …
I. Can’t. Breathe.
Running to the back door, I rip my coat off the hook and shove my feet into my boots while threading my arms into the sleeves, only having it halfway on as I run out the door into the frigid air.
“Griffin!” My cries form evaporating clouds of desperation. His truck is gone. The side door to the garage is locked, I look through the window. For the first time ever, my car is parked in the garage. Everything else is gone.
The motorcycle.
The boxes.
The few pieces of furniture he decided to claim as his to take.
All gone.
My grocery store guy is gone.
There are some things you can never prepare for, like loss. It’s this debilitating emotion that life serves up without an instructional manual.
We didn’t talk about this day, not how we’d handle that final goodbye. I knew there would be tears, but I didn’t know I’d cry them alone.
How can something so unfinished be so final?