Page 76 of Mr. Brightside
I reach out and take his hand. “Are you worried he won’t let you see them anymore?”
Jake sits up like a shot, his eyes frantic as he searches my face. “What? No! Why would you even say that?”
I keep my composure, fighting the urge to recoil and smoothing my thumb over his knuckles in hopes of easing the sting. “He’s their dad, Jake. If the situation today was as volatile as you say it was…”
“It was,” he insists through gritted teeth.
I’m not questioning him. Just trying to put things in perspective.
“I believe you. I do. But if Julian doesn’t want you around them…”
“What’s he going to do?” Jake spits out. “Declare himself Father of the Year and suddenly be in town for more than a few days each month? They may be his kids, but those aremygirls.”
I am so out of my depth here, it’s not even funny. I know he’s not mad at me. It’s the shitty situation, woven together with his big old heart and protective nature.
“Did you think he wouldn’t find out?”
He blows out a long breath and relaxes into the couch once more. That subtle shift tells he feels safe enough to work through this without censoring himself.
This is Jake being real. And as hard as it is to watch him struggle, I’m so damn proud of him.
“Honestly? Yeah. I sort of did. Ashleigh wasn’t about to tell him. And although we’ve never told the girls not to mention me to him, I get the impression that he rarely, if ever, has any sort of meaningful conversation with either of them. I didn’t overthink it because it seemed improbable that he’d ever find out.”
“That makes sense. But now that he knows, things can’t go back to how they were. You know that, right?”
He glances at me through his peripheral but doesn’t interrupt or rebuke what I’m saying.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear…” What had been a skeptical side-eye has transformed into a full-on glare. “But I think you’re going to have to make amends with Julian if you want to maintain your relationship with the girls.”
He blows out a sharp breath, like I’ve sucker-punched him. And maybe I have. But there’s no point sugarcoating this. He loves those kids. He hates their dad. Only he can decide which of those realities he’s willing to bend on.
“There’s nothing you can do about it tonight,” I remind him, brushing along his knuckles again before giving in to the urge to bring his hand to my mouth and kiss it. The movement has him scooting closer, positioning himself so the sides of our bodies are pressed into each other.
“And I’ll support you through whatever you decide to do.”
His only response is a long, low hum.
“How about that movie?” I suggest. There’s no point in pressing the issue. These things take time. It’s okay to sit in discomfort for a while. I just want him to know he doesn’t have to sit in it alone.
“You gonna let me pick, baby?”
The lilt in his voice tells me I’m in for another late-nineties cult classic. For some reason, the man loves that era of film: the darker and campier, the better. Last weekend we watchedDonnie DarkoandArmageddonback-to-back. A few weeks before that I was subjected to an entire Brendan Frasier marathon:The Mummy,Blast from the Past, andGeorge of the Jungleall in a row. In the six weeks we’ve lived together, I swear we’ve watchedMatch Pointat least three times.
“You can pick this time,” I relent, swatting him on the ass when he hops up to grab the remote. “But don’t get used to it. This is supposed to be an equal partnership. I call dibs on the next two movie nights to even the score.”
Chapter 32
Jake
MemoriesofthewayFiona cowered and Amelia disconnected around Julian replay in my mind. It twists my gut to think about my girls like that. I fucking hate that they have that kind of relationship with him.
But as awful as things feel, it’s not hopeless. Cory made a lot of valid points tonight. With his help, I’m going to figure out a way to work through this for the girls’ sakes.
I’m so fucking raw right now. Every memory, every thought that crosses my consciousness… it’s all more intense than anything I usually allow myself to feel. And the emotions—they’re lingering. Or maybe they’re clinging. It’s like now that I’ve opened up and let myself get real with Cory, I can’t shut off the worry, shame, frustration, and anger coiling through my body.
I towel off my hair, throw my gray sweats back on, and make my way into our bedroom to find him sitting up in bed. He’s propped against the headboard, wearing those adorable glasses I love, staring at his iPad intently. He likes to read at night. I always try to linger in the bathroom or take my time turning lights off and making his coffee for the next day. Just little things to give him a few extra minutes. Because as soon as I crawl into bed, all I want to do is get lost in him.
We fuck every night. Well, that’s not entirely true. Sometimes we fuck. Then other times we make love. I’ve never experienced sex like this before. It’s like we create our own personal oasis each time we connect. Sacrificing ourselves to one another, savoring every inch of affection, making promises with our bodies. I could spend hours getting lost in him: learning what makes him tick, unlocking his pleasure points. I’m intimate with him in ways I’ve never connected with another person.