Page 19

“Come out with me tonight?”

It’s his birthday and he hasn't gone out for weeks, spending all his time helping plan the wedding.

“I don't know, Jake,”

I hesitate because I don't want to ruin his birthday, but I don't like being around him when he's drunk.

“I promise I won't get drunk. I just want to have fun with you and my friends.”

He reassures me.

“I’ll just leave if you get drunk, Jake. I don’t want to fight, and that’s all we ever do when you drink.”

I take a deep breath and try not to get ahead of myself. He has been good about not getting drunk, I remind myself.

He’s done so well lately that I don't want to hold the past against him, but it's hard not to. All the fights. The way he changes when his words start to slur, and his eyes become distant as he gets angry. How do I know this time will be different?

“I get it,”

his smile falls, “I’ll be good. Just a couple of drinks, I swear.”

I trust him. Or at least I want to trust him. Somewhere along the way, I stopped.

I have to admit I am surprised when we get to the bar and Cody has decorated it a bit. A happy birthday banner hangs across the liquor shelves, and there are a few of Jake’s friends waiting for us.

“Did you always plan to come out tonight?”

I ask him because he hasn’t said anything to me before ten minutes ago.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,”

he runs a hand through his hair and waves to the guys, “I know you’ve been stressed over planning the wedding. I thought we could use a little fun.”

He kisses me before walking over to Cody and doing that weird bro hug thing that guys do.

Jake nurses a few beers all night, and we sit together at a table with his friends. I try to relax, but as the night wears on, Jake’s voice grows louder, his words a little slower, and his eyes glassier. I decide to get up, telling them I'm using the bathroom, and stand around the corner to see what happens.

I tell myself I’m crazy.

He wouldn't, he promised.

My heart sinks when I immediately see Cody bring three shot glasses and set them in front of Jake. He quickly looks around and slams them back before laughing as Cody collects the empty glasses and leaves.

Why didn’t I just stay home?

As pissed as I am, I know better than to make a scene. So, I take a deep breath, and once I’m calm enough, I walk back to the table with a smile on my face.

"You okay?”

he asks as I sit back down.

“I think I’m gonna head home. I’m tired.”

He opens his mouth, but I wave him off, “I want you to stay and hang out with everyone. It's your birthday!”

It sounds fake to my own ears, but he’s already drunk, so he doesn't notice.

“Are you sure?”

he asks, sounding sad. Even though I know the thought of me leaving makes him happy. He doesn't have to pretend if I'm not here.

“Yeah, I'm sure. Don't stay out too late. You work tomorrow.”

I remind him because he's probably already forgotten, and kiss him on the cheek before leaving.

On my way home, I decide I'm too pissed to go home and sleep, so I call Sam and end up driving to his house instead. When I walk in, I break down and tell Sam everything. About Jake sneaking the shots, about the lies, about the fights we’ve had that no one knows about. He listens, his face growing serious as I finish.

“I didn’t know his drinking was so bad,”

Sam says quietly, his voice full of concern.

“I don’t think anyone did,”

I reply, running a hand through my hair. “I didn’t even know. He’s better at hiding things than I thought.”

I take a deep breath. “He was so... sneaky tonight. It reminded me of what he used to do before he got clean.”

How did I not see this coming? Here we are again, with the same problem, just a different vice.

My phone goes off, and it’s Jake, but I ignore it, not wanting to argue. I just want a moment of peace. I’m so fed-up with this bullshit.

He keeps calling and eventually leaves a voicemail.

“Why are you at Sam’s, huh? You said you were going home because you were tired. I’m coming to get you.”

I can hear the sneer in his voice, the anger in his words.

Great. I left so we wouldn't fight, and now we’re fighting anyway. He must have left the bar and tracked my phone when he didn't find me in bed at home.

“Don't drive, please. You've been drinking,”

I call him back and hope he hasn't gotten into the car already. “I’ll come home, but Jake, I don't want to fight.”

“Fine. But hurry up. I have to be at work in a few hours, and I just want to go to sleep.”

He hangs up before I can respond.

The drive home feels long, even though it’s only a few minutes. The minute I step inside, I see Jake standing in the living room, his body rigid, his face twisted in anger.

His jaw is clenched, and his brows are drawn together in a harsh line, making the usual softness of his features almost unrecognizable. His eyes—dark and sharp, narrow as they lock onto me, like he’s already decided he’s mad before I even have a chance to speak.

Cody is sitting in the chair nearby, completely unaware—or more likely, uncaring that I’ve walked in. He’s scrolling through his phone, his face blank, his thumb moving slowly across the screen, not even bothering to look up.

“Where the hell were you?”

he demands, slurring.

“I was at Sam’s,”

I reply, keeping my voice even. “I needed some time to think.”

“Think about what?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You should’ve been with me on my birthday, not running off to another guy’s house.”

This isn’t what I signed up for. God, I love him, but this isn't what I want.

“He’s your friend, too!”

I shout before taking a breath, “I told you I didn’t want to fight, Jake. I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You think I want to?”

Jake's voice cuts through the silence, low but filled with so much fury that it makes my stomach sink. His words come out sharp, like a slap.

The raw anger in his voice makes me flinch, and for a split second, I'm afraid—his fists are clenched, his face is flushed with anger, as if every word he says is another thread unraveling, pulling him closer to losing control.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. When you drink, you’re not the man I fell in love with, and I can’t keep doing this.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna leave me now?”

His tone changes so quickly. Quiet and defeated, but his eyes stay hard, his fists still clenched. “You’re just done?”

“I’m not done, Jake,”

I say softly, “I’m just going to bed. Do you want the couch or the bed? I don't care, just pick one because I don't want to sleep next to you tonight.”

“Couch,”

he says before stomping over and throwing himself down on it.

I shake my head and walk to the bedroom, gathering his work clothes and setting them outside the door so he doesn't have to try to find them in the morning in the dark.

Just as I’m falling asleep, the door handle starts to shake, and Jake pounds on the door.

“I need my work clothes,”

he shouts.

“They're at your feet,”

I yell back and roll over away from the door.

“You better open this door before I break it down, Elle.”

He screams, his voice rising with each word, his fists pounding harder on the door.

My pulse quickens, a knot forming in my stomach as his anger starts to seep through the walls. It’s not the first time he’s shouted, not the first time he’s been angry. But there’s something in his voice now, something deeper. And the worst part? It pisses me off. I hate how easily he can make me feel small, how quickly he can shift from someone I love to someone I’m afraid of.

“Your work clothes are at your fucking feet,”

I yell again and grit my teeth as I get up to unlock the door.

A step closer and it would have hit me as Jake comes crashing through it.

Then all hell breaks loose.