Swallowing my heart back down, I utter, “Um, no, of course not.”
Jake takes the seat opposite me at the table, and I’m struggling to keep my eyes off him.
He looks like he hasn’t had much sleep. His normally light eyes look dark, and his hair has that ruffled up look it gets when he’s worried about something and has been driving his fingers repeatedly through it.
It makes me want to reach my hand out and smooth it down, and soothe him.
I press my palms flat to the table.
“Have you already ordered?” he indicates to my half-drunk coffee.
“Only the coffee.”
“Are you eating?”
I shake my head, no, in response, resting my eyes back on the newspaper.
“You look like you’ve lost weight.”
My eyes snap up to his. “Are you saying I was fat before?”
Here she is, Tru who wants to pick a fight with Jake. I was wondering when she’d show up. Apparently, at 6am in a hotel restaurant.
“No, of course not.” He shakes his head, looking helpless. “I was just … trying to make conversation, I guess…” he trails off.
“Well don’t.”
“You don’t want to talk?”
“No.”
My eyes go back to the paper, desperately trying to focus on the text, but now all I can feel is my anger and rage heating in my blood, bubbling up, and I just want to yell at him.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks in a soft voice, tracing his fingertip over the table cloth.
And that’s all he has to say and I’m over the edge.
“Does it matter what I want?!” I hurl at him.
His brow furrows. “Of course is does.”
“No it doesn’t! If it did then I wouldn’t be here right now having this conversation with you. I’d be home, getting on with my life.”
“Tru…” He reaches his hand across the table, trying to take mine, but I snatch it away before he gets chance.
“Why are you here?” I give him the coldest look I can muster up. “Did you just come down here to torture me some more – more than you already have?”
“Torture you?” He looks seriously pissed off at that statement.
“Yes!” I bang my hands on the table. “Torturing me, forcing me to be around you after what you did!”
“I didn’t–”
“I don’t want to hear it!” I cry, getting to my feet.
My heart is pumping so fast, so hard, and blood is roaring in my ears. I start to walk away from the table, and him.
“WILL YOU JUST STOP AND FUCKIN’ LISTEN TO ME!” he roars, standing so abruptly that his chair falls out behind him, banging to the floor.
I blanch.
His voice is so all-consuming that everything in the room stops moving.
Me. Time. Air. Everything.
Jake’s chest is pumping up and down angrily, his T-shirt rising and falling with each breath.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.
Momentarily stunned, I falter, but then I very quickly come back to life.
Turning on the spot, I state, “No, I won’t bloody stop and listen to you because I’m not interested in a damn thing you have to say!” I curse the betrayal my voice does when it quivers slightly.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ woman!” he growls. “You’re so stubborn! And you will listen to me if I have to tie you to that fuckin’ chair, to do so!” He jabs a finger in the direction of the seat my ass just graced moments ago. “And I will keep on saying this until you hear me – I did not have sex with that girl, and I most certainly did not have an affair with her! I fuckin’ love you, Tru! More than life itself! I would never do that to you! Now are you hearing any of this yet?!” He lifts his hands to his head in frustration. “Is any of this getting through to your stubborn ass brain?!”
He looks so angry and frustrated, and lost.
But then so am I.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Words, Jake. That’s all they are. I believe in facts, statistics and logic.” I’m throwing words at him, trying to confuse him, or maybe me, I’m not sure, all I do know is right now I sound like Vicky.
“What?!” he seethes, jaw clenched, brow furrowed.
“I believe what I saw!”
“No, you believe what you think you saw!”
“Are you telling me I didn’t walk in on you in bed with her?”
“No, I just–”
“So then I saw right.”
“NO!”
“YES!” I wrap my hand around my ponytail, tugging on it hard, like the ache of that will take all of my anger and frustrations away.
“Nothing you can say or do will change my mind on this,” I continue in a low, firm tone. “I believe what I saw – now if you’re quite done I’m going back to my room.”
I step back, but he stops me with his words.
“I’m not done.” He sounds so authoritative, so angry, that I pale and I literally can’t move.