Grimness thinned his lips, but they stayed stubbornly closed.
Catching his wrists, I pulled his hands away.
I was cracking open inside, breaking.
"I won't run this time, but you can push me away.
You might want to think about that."
I left.
Gideon didn't stop me.
* * *
I spent the rest of the afternoon focused on work.
Mark loved to brainstorm out loud, which was an awesome learning exercise for me, and his confident and amiable way of dealing with his accounts was inspiring.
I watched him breeze through two client meetings in which he conveyed an air of command that was both reassuring and nonthreatening.
Then we tackled a baby-toy company's needs analysis, zeroing in on poor return expenditures as well as untapped avenues, such as mom-blog advertising.
I was grateful that my job was a distraction from my personal life, and I was looking forward to going to my Krav Maga class later, so I could burn off some of my edgy restlessness.
It was just past four when my desk phone rang.
I answered briskly and felt my heart leap at the sound of Gideon's voice.
"We should leave at five," he said, "to get to Dr.
Petersen's on time."
"Oh."
I'd forgotten that our couples therapy sessions were on Thursdays at six P.M.
It would be our first.
Abruptly, I wondered if it would also be our last.
"I'll come get you," he went on gruffly, "when it's time."
I sighed, feeling far from up to it.
I was already raw and irritable from our fight earlier.
"I'm sorry I hit you.
I shouldn't have done that.
I hate that I did."
"Angel."
Gideon exhaled harshly.
"You didn't ask the one question that matters."