Page 68 of Worth the Fall
“Looks accurate.” He shrugged one shoulder, unaffected by what he’d just seen.
“Looks accurate?” I mimicked. “It’s a video. Of course it’s accurate.”
“You said you weren’t mad at me.” He shot me a look, his tone confused.
I put my hand on his forearm, my thumb rubbing against his skin. “I’m not. I just started freaking out about Eli. What if he presses charges or something?”
“He won’t,” Thomas said with sheer confidence that completely contradicted the way I was feeling.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m pretty sure I hit the stupid right out of him tonight.” He sounded utterly convinced. “Will you send me that though? Just so I have it.”
“Of course,” I said, pulling my hand away and typing a message with the video attached.
When Thomas’s phone vibrated, he glanced down and nodded.
“How the hell were you ever married to that jackass?” he asked, his tone downright offensive as the air between us shifted.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” I bit back defensively.
“I’m sorry, Brooklyn. I just”—he shook his head—“can’t picture it.”
“I guess not all of us choose the right partners the first time around,” I said with more than a little snark that I immediately regretted, but couldn’t take back.
Bringing up his dead wife was a low blow, but he’d taken me by surprise with his shitty question, and I’d reacted in kind instead of thinking it over first. It was a crappy thing to do. Immature. And I hated myself for it.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, but he didn’t say he accepted it or that it was okay.
“Let’s go sit.” He grabbed the ice and made himself comfortable on the couch while I remained in the kitchen, my feet refusing to follow after him.
“I should probably go,” I suggested, and he blew out a long, loud breath.
“Brooklyn. Sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“Stop being difficult and get the hell over here before I get up and come get you myself.”
I put up a hand. “Fine. Fine. I’m coming.”
I made my way over to the couch. He was sitting at an angle, so I sat facing him, our legs touching.
“Are you sure you’re not mad at me? I know you said you weren’t, but you’re acting like you are.”
This man could be so perceptive, even if his conclusion was all wrong. Eli and I had not been good at communicating. Talking things out typically went more like me talking and him pretending to listen, mumblingmmhmmandI understandat just the right time. I always ended up feeling more frustrated after than when we’d started.
So, having an honest and straightforward conversation with Thomas was fairly unfamiliar territory for me, even though I craved it.
“I’m not mad at you. I promise. I think I’m mostly mad at myself,” I admitted before running my hands through my hair.
I was hopeful that time would help me stop shouldering all the blame, like I’d somehow been the sole cause of my marriage ending. It was exhausting, hating myself for ignoring the red flags and feeling stupid when I looked back at the whole thing. I’d expected better from the woman I thought I was.
“I know all about blame and the toll it can take on a person. It eats you up inside,” Thomas said, breaking me out of my internal berating.
I sucked in an audible breath. I remembered hearing that his wife had died from a brain aneurysm, but that wasn’t something that Thomas had had any control over. It never occurred to me that he’d struggled with forgiving himself over something like that.
“But you didn’t cause what happened to Jenna.” I said her name like it was stuck on my teeth like taffy.