college, too.
“That’s good,” I try, tears blurring my vision.
When will the pain become easier to bear?
Will I ever overcome the havoc I brought upon the ones I love?
Can I fix my soul and spread the tide, in hopes I won’t be eternally damned?
My face flames, feeling someone watching me, and when I look up, it’s Jase.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Breathe.
He moves his lips with my mantra, and a few salty droplets leave my eyes.
“I love you,” he mouths, and I fall in love again and again, wondering how two lost souls could break so much, yet always find each other again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Present
Toby
As she brushes her teeth, I pace the floor outside the bathroom. Not sure how I did, but I convinced Frankie to leave without any more arguments or fighting. Told him—promised—I wouldn’t hurt her. Not that I’d ever raise my hand to her for anything other than what she wanted. She liked being manhandled a little in the bedroom, but I’d never physically hurt her otherwise.
Why did she see Lo? Why do I hate my best friend? Why does my blood boil with the need to fuck my wife and remind her that no one will ever be me and can’t satisfy her like I do?
My body is hot as hell, my skin inflamed, and the hangover hammering into my head doesn’t help matters. I’m so pissed I can barely function.
After my girl sobbed, holding onto me in a way I haven’t felt in a long time, I couldn’t hold back. It’s like her icy exterior defrosted and started to melt for me. She showed me more passion and pain in those five minutes than she’s offered since our separation.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
I hate it.
I despise how radiant she is even while being a mess. It’s insanity, knowing she’ll always own this important part of me.
She does. She owns me, every fucking inch.
Even last night when Jameson helped me fuck Bry, it was Joey I was fucking in my mind. She has the power. All of it. She could destroy me, and sometimes, that’s all I want.
Her anger brought me some type of satisfaction. The depraved kind that shouldn’t thrive on such emotions. I can’t help the way it got me hard, knowing she was unreasonably jealous that I cared enough about Lo. I can’t stop that either. It was built into me at a young age. It’s something that lives in me and never died even when our friendship did.
I hear the water shut off, and a moment later, my wife walks through the door. Her eyes are sunken and red, but for the most part, they’re not teary. She’s such a goddamn mess, and I haven’t seen her look more beautiful. I can’t help the part of me that drives me forward. There’s no resisting the urge to touch her face, cup it, and rub circles. I’m losing. I’m fucking losing this battle with my heart. But she doesn’t look happy or proud. She’s back to being that woman with all the walls, the hardened ice queen who feels nothing. Her scars may be visible, but that thick scar tissue around her heart is as numb as she is.
If she didn’t remind me so much of Lo, I’d probably care. But I can’t be that guy again. A second choice. I can’t leave either. Not just because of her father’s threats, but because losing her feels like a death wish. She’s vital to me. Not a moment goes by when she isn’t fighting her way into my mind. I love her. I hate her. I wish we were in a better place.
She deserves better.
I deserve better.
This is so fucked up.
Seeing her with Frankie broke something in me last night. It couldn’t have just been him with her and the chance of them fucking, even if he denies every second of it. It was the fact that my wife was feeling. She was broken and instead of me holding her, fixing her, and being the man she needs, it was him.
He held her.
He eased her hurt.
He fixed what I couldn’t.
I stood by like a fucking onlooker the entire time and that hurt. No one gets to touch her like that. No one gets what is mine or loves what isn’t theirs to love.
She’s mine, goddammit.
“Why are you glaring at me?” she mumbles, her voice wobbly with emotion as I tentatively go to hold her face between my palms. And fuck if that doesn’t ignite something deep inside me. She’s something else. The