Breathe (Colorado Mountain #4)(139)

“Would it matter to you that I’d rather you didn’t leave right now but we either talk about whatever’s obviously seriously bothering you or you allow me to see to you in other ways?”

“No, it wouldn’t because I’m tired. I been thinkin’ on the way home and I’m tellin’ you the way you can see to me is to give me space. So, you’ll give me space and we’ll talk Tuesday.”

I’d give him space. He decided and that was it.

It hit me just then that Chace decided a lot and that was it.

And it also hit me that whenever my girlfriends told me their boyfriends needed space, they didn’t need space, as such, they needed something else entirely.

So I made a decision, my first in our relationship.

“No we won’t,” I announced and his brows drew together.

Then he took in a calming breath, clearly tamping down his irritation that he was dealing with his inexperienced girlfriend and he explained, “When I say I need space, Faye, when anyone wants space, it’s important to give it to them.”

Oh no.

Frak no.

He might be my first pretty much everything but I wasn’t seventeen and exploring the ways of the world. I was twenty-fraking-nine, not stupid, I had my own opinions, my own desires, my own needs and they were just as valid as his.

Last, I was suddenly so over this I could scream.

I didn’t scream.

I invited, shrugging off my coat, “Great, take a lot of it.”

He turned fully away from the door and asked, “What?”

“Take a lot of it,” I repeated, moving and tossing my coat on a stool as I made my way to the kitchen. “You want it. You have it. But don’t bother calling me on Tuesday.”

His barely there patience slipped when he declared, “Jesus, Faye, it’s f**kin’ late, I’m f**kin’ tired. I’m tellin’ you what I need so you can read into that what I don’t need is a f**kin’ drama.”

“No drama,” I pulled open a cupboard to nab a wineglass. I closed the cupboard, turned to him but didn’t look at him as I reached for the bottle of wine on my counter, finishing, “Just giving you space. Plenty of it.”

“Fine,” he stated as I squeezed the plastic thingie Chace had shoved into the bottle last night and pumped the air out of so the wine would keep, heartbreakingly sad I was doing that because Chace had done it like he always did it and my earlier decision meant Chace would never do it again.

“But don’t call Wednesday,” I told the wine.

“Jesus.” I heard him clip.

“Or Thursday.” I kept at it as I poured my wine.

“Fuckin’ hell, Faye.”

“Or Friday,” I went on as I turned the bottle in my hand to stop the flow without it dripping.

“Faye, this isn’t a big deal.”

Not to him.

But it was to me.

Though he obviously didn’t care.

I set the bottle on the counter, lifted my eyes to him and concluded, “Or at all.”

His body went visibly solid and his mood again blanketed the room as his eyes locked on mine.

I kept talking.

“You’re right, you didn’t say it but I get it. I’m inexperienced. I need guidance in this relationship business. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.” I took a sip of wine, held his gaze as I did, lowered my glass and swallowed. “But you don’t have to know about relationships to know that no matter how wonderful a man may seem, how he makes you feel, it is not okay for him to keep things from you. It is not okay that, even though he’s going through serious stuff in his head, he lashes out and rips you to shreds. It is not okay that, although he’s more experienced than you, he doesn’t guide the relationship but controls it with an iron fist. So you want time and I have no say in the matter? Take it. A lot of it.”

His expression shifted and at the shift, I braced.

“You’re makin’ a bigger deal of this than it is, honey,” he said softly but didn’t move toward me. “After what happened tonight, I just need some time to get my head together.”

“What happened tonight?” I asked.

Chace didn’t answer.

When it was important, Chace never really answered.

“Right,” I muttered, my heart squeezing and it didn’t feel good at all. I took a sip of wine and didn’t get what women were always talking about in regards to drinking wine during heartbreak. It didn’t make me feel even a little bit better.

Maybe I needed more of it.

Like, a case.

Chace didn’t move.

“You aren’t leaving,” I prompted, pleased with myself that my voice didn’t crack because tears were rushing up my throat.

“I’ll call you Tuesday,” he whispered.

I lifted my wineglass his way and invited, “You do that.”

He didn’t move.

I took another sip of wine.

When I lowered my glass, reading me yet again, he noted, “You’re not gonna answer.”

“Nope,” I replied, sounding shockingly cavalier considering my insides were bleeding.

“Faye –” he started, taking a step toward me.

I shook my head and lifted a hand his way. “Unh-unh, no. Door’s the other way, Chace.”