into me, my other hand going to the back of her head to tuck her against my shoulder so I can hold her tightly. My lips go to her head. “I’m sorry. You must be heartbroken.”
She pulls back quickly, chin contracting inward to look at me. “I’m not heartbroken,” she says, eyes still with a wet sheen. “I’m pissed.”
I blink in surprise at the vehemence in her voice.
“I’m pissed at her for going back to him. She knew this would happen again, but she loves him. But that’s not love, you know what I mean? A man cannot love a woman and hurt her like that. It shows an absolute disrespect, which I loathe. But more than anything, I’m pissed at her for going back when we had her safe and cared for.”
I draw in a slow breath. “I imagine it’s difficult for some women to break that tie. Afraid they can’t make it. Or that the abuse is better than being alone.”
“Yes,” she growls, huffing out a breath of frustration. “I get all that. I understand the victim psychology. It’s my specialty. But I still get pissed.”
“Because you want every woman you help to have a success story.”
“Exactly,” she murmurs, then moves into me to snuggle tight. She mutters against the skin of my chest. “Didn’t mean to unload like that.”
“You unload anytime you want,” I assure her, but I feel that small twinge of guilt. Will I always be here to lean on in times like these? And it struck a chord when she talked about disrespect. I’m not abusing Jaime, but I am disrespecting her by continuing my lie.
Christ, part of me feels I should confess right now, but there’s something inside me sounding an alarm bell. She’d be hurt by it, yes. But I suspect she’d be pissed, and I’m not quite ready to let this thing—whatever it is—be over yet.
God, I’m a selfish son of a bitch.
And I reason that this is just a casual, easy relationship. We’ve not talked about commitment or monogamy, although I’d go ape shit if she wanted to see someone else. We’re having fun. A good time. Nothing to indicate this is more than just two people who enjoy each other’s company and are extremely compatible in bed.
Except… I felt her pain just moments ago when she was telling me about the woman who went back to her abuser. I wanted to comfort her and make it better.
And fuck… I sent her flowers this week at work. For no reason. My card read, “Just because I wanted to,” because I was sure she’d be asking herself why in the world I’d do that. She loved them so much, calling me up immediately to gush about them.
Jesus… I don’t know what the hell this is. Until I do, I’m not inclined to make a move to reveal my true self. I feel like it’s just self-preservation controlling my actions right now.
Jaime’s phone rings on the nightstand beside her. She pulls away from me, reaches an arm way back, and feels around for it. When she nabs it, she glances at the screen briefly before answering, “Hey, Brian… what’s up?”
Her brother. I haven’t met him the way I did Laney at the football game a week ago, but I’ve learned a little bit about him through Jaime. She loves him dearly, but he’s a source of frustration to her as well. I’ve not offered opinions one way or the other, because she hasn’t told me much and it’s just not my place.
Jaime listens to her brother, the smile she just had on her face as she answered the phone slipping away. Her mouth presses tight, and her brows draw inward.
“Seriously, Brian?” she asks, clearly incredulous over whatever he just said.
She listens some more before sighing. “When can you come by?”
Whatever he replies causes her to sit up straight in bed. “Okay… just stay put. I’ll be right there.”
Jaime disconnects the phone, tosses it on the nightstand, and rolls out of bed. I watch as she nabs her robe and slips into it. Turning to me, she explains. “My brother Brian is here. In the hallway. I’ll be right back.”
Not much information, but I get her message loud and clear. She wants me to stay here, and I’ll abide by it.
She slips out of the room, then closes the door behind her. I resist the urge to get out of bed and creep to the door to listen. I hear some muffled sounds,