Naked Love(92)

“Why?”

Letting my hands flop to my sides, I give him a wide-eyed look. “Why? WHY?” Heat burns my cheeks as rage crawls up my chest, constricting my throat. “Because we are terrible together! Because you say terrible things to me. Because you’re leaving. Because I can’t stop thinking about you, but I need to stop thinking about you! Because you can’t figure out the three fucking words that you need to say to me. And because next Friday you’ll be in Milwaukee with Mo in your bed!”

Jake’s head inches back as his eyes widen like saucers.

Son … of a bitch. I have done so well with this. After the “makeup incident” at the rehearsal, I put myself together. Stood up for myself. I slipped a bit when I let him kiss me here last week, but I quickly righted that wrong.

I’ve fallen headfirst off the wagon.

“Why are you here, Ave? It’s not to iron my jeans or help me pack.” He steps closer.

I step back. We cannot be close. Our brains shut down when we get too close.

“Are you here to tell me what I need to say to make things right between us? Are you ready to stop playing this stupid guessing game with me? I love you. I am sorry. What three words? Those are good words. I’m an idiot. How do you like those three words? I need you. I want you. Are those the right words?” He takes another step and grabs my wrist to prevent me from distancing myself from him.

When I try to pull away, he tugs me closer, hugging my arms to his chest. His gaze slips to my hand. “Nice nail polish. Those are three words. Are they the ones you’re looking for?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, you big jerk!” All attempts to tear myself away from his hold are futile. “You’re judging me because I have nail polish on my nails. I bet you were judging me when I walked in here with those five-hundred-dollar shoes. And my handbag that’s made of dead cowhide. And my makeup that’s covering up the bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. You can’t love me unless I’m the person you created in your head.”

“That’s not—”

I bring my other hand to my mouth and my cheeks puff out. Oh god … I’m going to be sick. Sydney will pay for this. She’s always grabbing the wrong water glass off the counter. Could there possibly be worse timing?

“Ave?” Jake loosens his grip on me.

I shake my head and pull away, keeping my mouth covered as I dart in the direction of the bathroom. Before I can shut the door behind me, I drop to my knees and expel the contents of my stomach as sweat beads along my brow.

“Go …” I hold out a flat hand as Jake hands me a cup of water and a wet washcloth. “I don’t want you to see this.”

“Too late.” He presses the washcloth to my forehead and shoves the glass of water into my hands as I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with a wad of toilet paper.

“Stay back. You don’t want this. Sydney’s sick. It’s contagious. Just …” I take the water, rinse my mouth, and flush the toilet.

He helps me to my feet.

“Yuck.” I frown at the few splatters of vomit on the floor by his toilet. “I’m sorry.”

I swish some water again and spit in the sink.

“I forgive you,” he whispers. Barely even a whisper, but I hear it.

I glance up at his reflection in the mirror. He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his colorful arms over his chest.

Coughing on a bit of sarcasm, I shake my head. “Gee, thanks. It’s good to know that vomiting on your floor isn’t unforgivable in your high standards.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my floor.”

I set the glass on the vanity and turn toward him, peeling a few strands of hair from my face. Why does he look so tortured with his lined forehead and downturned mouth?

“I’m saying it for me, and I’m saying it for you. I’m saying it for us. Those are the words, aren’t they? The three words. I. Forgive. You.”

Tears burn my already red eyes. I don’t want his acceptance. I want this. His love feels incomplete without … his forgiveness. All I’ve wanted to hear are those three words. Maybe it’s being raised in a church, or maybe it’s because I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but for whatever reason, forgiveness is the pinnacle of love. It’s unconditional. It’s a baptism of the soul.

“You think love isn’t the answer. You think I can’t truly love you unless I forgive you for Steve, for Megan’s baby, for poisoning me, for absolutely anything and everything about you that can be perceived as an imperfection. You’re so wrong.”

The tears fight their way to my cheeks.

Jake steps toward me.

“I’m sick.” I hold up my hand.

“So what?” He palms the back of my head and brings me into his chest. I nuzzle his neck and let more tears find their way to my cheeks and his shirt.

“Ave, I forgive you because I love you. You think love is not enough, but it’s everything. It’s all encompassing. It’s overpriced shoes and dead animals used to make bags. It’s bright red nail polish and dark eyeshadow. It’s jeans named after women and eyelashes that fall off. It’s dog shit on shoes and untimely cases of head lice.”

I laugh through my tears. “I didn’t have head lice.”