Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Hold up.
I frowned when I noticed the words Jake had scribbled on the notebook cover. Not on the dotted line in the white center box where you were supposed to, but in the upper corner where it was barely visible.
Therapy journal.
He went to therapy?
No fucking way.
Without thinking twice, I flipped it open and read the first entry.
Patricia thinks I should write down my feelings in a journal. What I feel is annoyed.
I grinned quickly, unsurely, fucking confused—was this happening? Jake? My Jake? In therapy? Where he had to use words? The entry was dated too. Christ, November 2013.
I shouldn’t read another damn word. This was a violation of his privacy. I should close the notebook right fucking now.
But…the next entry was right below the first one.
Dumbass homework, like I’m twelve years old again. I’m supposed to use three words I feel about Roe that I’m uncomfortable using/not ready to say out loud, which we will discuss during the next session.
Attracted.
Possessive.
Embarrassed.
I closed the notebook, and panic pushed my heart up in my throat as I heard Jake down the hall. Attracted. Possessive. Embarrassed. My brain fucking exploded with the confusion, and I suddenly had a million questions and WTFs raging. Attracted? To me? Jake was straight. I fully believed that. Possessive? Okay, lined up a little bit with his reluctance to get to know my wife. Fucking attracted?! Embarrassed? What the fuck!
“You ready to get back?” he asked.
“Yup, let’s go—got your charger.” I avoided eye contact and aimed straight for the door.
Straight.
He was straight.
This wasn’t happening. But it had been a long time ago. The entry was from late 2013; we were halfway into 2015 now. Maybe it’d been his, uh, confused phase? After all, that’d been the year we’d hooked up. In March. I’d just revealed Sandra was pregnant and that I’d offered to marry her.
Holy fuck was I rattled. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
“You okay?” he asked.
I squinted for the sun and sped up on the sidewalk. “Yeah, just a bit off, I guess. From our talk, I mean.”
That made sense to my ears.
As had Jake’s admission the day after Vegas. He’d confessed—or rather, confirmed—that he’d acted out of fear. I knew he was attached to me. I knew he loved me. He wasn’t the type of man who spoke the words—unless he was hammered—but he showed me all the time. So, yeah, I’d accepted that. I still did. I knew firsthand you could do some crazy shit when you were desperate. And if Jake and I already had that tight bond, that platonic love, perhaps it was easy to get lost after countless drinks.
Plus, with his issues from his childhood? Come on. I didn’t have the details. He hadn’t shared the specifics of what’d traumatized him as a kid, but I did know homophobia fucking festered in his parents’ house. Something had terrified him at some point, and I’d witnessed his panic attack in Norway. That shit had been real.
So, the third point in his bizarre list was the most logical. Embarrassed. Affection from me made him uncomfortable. I refused to stop, because I knew where it stemmed from, and I knew he needed said affection, even when he couldn’t admit it. Take away the past as a badass Marine, one who’d been on the front line, one who’d literally been shot, one who’d seen suffering and war up close…and you had a six-foot-three scared little puppy who wanted to be held but feared a beating.
Jake was messed up.
It was a good thing he’d never introduced me to his folks in person, because fucking hell, I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut. They’d hurt him so goddamn much.
I’d heard plenty of stories from Haley too. Unlike her brother, she didn’t keep the peace. She talked to their folks about once a year, and only over the phone. Meanwhile, Jake had brought Nikki and Colin there, and shortly after, Nikki was pregnant.
Fuck me sideways, I needed a drink.
Instead, I could bury myself in work until I had privacy and could overanalyze my whole fucking life since I’d moved to LA.
Was there anything better than a cuddly toddler who lit up when you made funny faces?
Cas laughed and bounced on my lap as I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue, and he was so fucking cute, trying to mirror my expressions.
In the meantime, Sandra was mad at me and opening and closing cupboards with unnecessary force. She whisked the sauce as if she was trying to beat it to death, and she dramatically re-chopped the lettuce I’d already chopped. I knew how to make a fucking salad.
Cas settled down against my chest and popped his pacifier back into his mouth, still a bit tired from his late nap. I kissed the top of his head and breathed him in.