Beloved (Toni Morrison Trilogy #1)(72)

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Once we’re out of the building, I take a deep breath and let the tears roll down my face again. It’s over. I have nothing left. I’m empty. All I want to do is rewind the last ten years and change it all. I want to know who my father was, why he made the choices he did, go back in time and rewrite my story—but I can’t. I miss a man I didn’t even know. How is that possible?

Jackson sees the tears and takes a hesitant step toward me. “I don’t want you to be alone. I’m staying with you tonight. No arguments.”

I couldn’t argue if I wanted to—which I don’t. If Jackson’s close, maybe I can keep it together long enough to read the letter burning a hole in my purse.

The train station is only a few blocks away, and I could use the walk. All I want to do is curl into Jackson, but since we left the office he hasn’t touched me. Even with my scattered mind, I’ve processed that much. Wherever Jackson is, it’s not here. Oh my God. I didn’t take into account how hard this might be for him with his history of loss and grief. Of course bringing up death would push him away. He’s never felt this distant to me. Now I know why. It was selfish to ask him to be with me today.

The two blocks seem to take forever, and with each step it feels like miles separate Jackson and me. He’s stiff and keeps his hands in his pockets while he processes whatever he’s feeling. I want to slap him and force him to talk because his silence is shredding me. Not because he’s doing anything wrong, but because I need to stop my mind from racing over what just happened. Both of us walk in silence until I can’t take it anymore.

“Jackson?” I ask tentatively.

He looks up but doesn’t respond. Every indication, from his tight jaw to his rigid posture, is saying he wants to be left alone.

“Forget it.” I look away, taken aback by his aloofness.

Neither of us says anything else as we approach the train. Where I was quiet and sad a moment ago, now my frustration is growing. If he didn’t want to be with me, then he shouldn’t have said he was coming to my place. He could’ve gone back home and left me alone. I could’ve processed this on my own instead of having him brooding next to me and adding to my stress. I need his arms, his strength, but right now all I’m getting is nothing.

I can’t take another second of this. “Are we going to talk or keep ignoring each other?” My voice is full of the annoyance I’m feeling. Part of it is directed at him, part at this entire day.

“What do you want to talk about?” he says with narrowed eyes.

Apparently he’s irritated by my approach. Good. “Oh, I don’t know. The weather? Why you’re being so quiet and haven’t said a word since we left the office? You can choose.” I’m being a total bitch, but at this point I really don’t care.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your attitude.” Jackson huffs with a sarcastic smile as the train approaches.

“You said you wanted to come back to my place. I didn’t ask you to.”

His answer comes fast and angry. “I know that.”

“If you didn’t want to be around me or whatever, you didn’t have to.” I throw over my shoulder as I board the train. Fuck him. He wants to be a jerk, he can do it alone. I’m going home, pouring myself an overflowing glass of wine, and finding the courage to read this freaking letter.

Just thinking about it makes me nauseous. There are so many things it could say, some of which I’m not ready to face. But I know myself well enough to know I’ll never sleep if I don’t get it over with soon. His attitude isn’t helping.

I’m facing the window, refusing to look at him, when the seat next to me moves. He doesn’t say a word, but the warmth of his hand on my leg stills me and a tear falls from the corner of my eye. God! I’m a mess! One minute I’m livid, and then he touches me and I cry.

“I want to be with you. That’s why I’m here.” His voice is low, full of the strength I’ve come to rely on.

I turn and face him, hopeful that he means that. “This isn’t easy for me, you know? Trusting you, letting you be here for me. You don’t understand how hard this is.”

He wipes the tears from my face and gently cradles me to his chest. “I know more than you think.”

“How so?” My voice is barely a whisper, but I know he hears me when he lets out a long breath. I sit up and stare at him through blurry eyes, waiting for his answer.

The pain that lances across his perfect face erases all my anger.

“You know about the f*cking hell I’ve been through, Catherine. Do you think I wanted anyone around me? I hated myself. I hated everyone who talked to me, touched me, or made me feel. I wanted to die with them.” His hand touches his chest and then moves to his shoulder. “You can’t imagine the man I was during that time. Anger?” He scoffs before going on, “Baby, you can’t imagine what angry looked like. So you want to be mad at me, be mad.”

The train stops, halting our conversation. I don’t fully understand his withdrawal. He’s the one who’s pushed me repeatedly, and now suddenly he’s retreating? And yes, I’m mad. I’m mad at him, at my father, at my mother, and anyone else who made me this way.

As we exit the train, my mind begins to wander, thinking about the pain he must have been in. Losing people you know and love, people who understand you and stand beside you … I can’t think about any of this right now. My brain can’t contain any more. I want to change into my comfy clothes, drink a bottle … errr glass of wine, and forget this day ever happened.