Page 52 of Choose Me

“Erik…” I’m not sure if the concern on her face is for me, for Gunnar, or for Jules. Probably all three. I get it, but it’s still annoying.

I put my hand over hers. “I’m only going to talk.” Her worry doesn’t lessen. “Look, if I could avoid this, I would. But I don’t have a choice.” I glance at the closed bedroom door and turn back to her, squaring my shoulders. “Don’t you think it’s time?”

She slips her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “I do. But I also know if Gunnar is upset, you’re likely to get yelled at again rather than do any real talking. So, please pay attention to his mood? If he’s still angry, just come back inside and try again tomorrow.”

I want to ask when isn’t he angry, but that’s not fair. He’s better than he was. Maybe we just avoid alcohol in the future. “Okay. That seems reasonable. Would you sit with Jules until I come back? I don’t want to leave him alone in case he wakes up disoriented. That can sometimes happen.”

“You got it.”

With one final glance at the closed bedroom door, I turn and slowly descend the stairs, every muscle tired and tense. When I get to the entry, I hear Bjorn’s voice coming from the living room. I poke my head around the door and see him sitting with Gary, both obviously trying to make the best of an awkward situation. I knock on the doorjamb and they look over. “Hey. Where’s Gunnar?”

Bjorn frowns. “How’s Jules?”

I drag my fingers through my beard, wanting to go back upstairs and crawl into bed with my boyfriend and forget tonight ever happened. “He’ll be okay. He’s sleeping and Astrid’s sitting with him.”

“Okay. Um, can I do anything? I feel awful. I wanted to tell Gunnar to stop, but then I was worried it would escalate things if he thought I was playing ‘dad.’”

I wave him off, too drained to deal with it right now. “I get it. It’s fine. So, Gunnar?”

He jerks his thumb towards the garage. “He’s probably tinkering on his bike.” I head for the door, more than ready to put an end to whatever this is. “Wear your coat!”

I ignore Bjorn, not planning to be in the elements for more than the few moments it takes to get inside the garage. I’m halfway across the slick driveway, getting pelted by the falling slush and barely keeping my feet under me, before regretting my decision. At least I can see the lights on in the garage. Gunnar’s probably in there and this trek in the weather isn’t for nothing. With a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside.

The sound of metal clanging against concrete and swearing come from the third bay. I walk along the garage doors until I almost step on Gunnar, who’s squatting in front of his bike, hands already grease-covered, with his usual scowl on his face. He snatches his wrench up from the floor and studiously ignores me.

I kick his boot. “Hey.” He finally looks up and grunts a greeting. “We need to talk.”

He pauses mid-wrench turn and for several heartbeats, neither of us moves or says a thing. Then he sighs and nods, throwing his wrench onto his toolbox and standing up. “Yeah. We do. I’ll go first, if that’s okay.”

It’s not, because I’m worried I’ll lose my nerve. Then I remember Jules standing at the dinner table, shaking like a leaf but defending me because I wouldn’t defend myself. Shame, love and determination rush through me. “Fine.”

Gunnar grabs a rag and wipes off his hands, concentrating on that small action instead of facing me. “How’s Jules?”

The question is surprising given what just happened. “All right. He’s sleeping. That really messed him up.”

Gunnar sighs. “I’m sorry about that. I was out of line.” He was, but I don’t say so. “I was angry with you.” He looks up at the ceiling before meeting my eyes. “Iamangry with you.“ That shocks me. It’s way more honest than I was expecting from him. He whips the rag onto the floor and paces back and forth next to the bike. “This god damned weather.” He glares at the garage doors like he can see the mess coming down outside. “I need to be riding right now.”

“It’s very sloppy out there. Not a good idea to take the bike out.”

He scowls at me. “No shit. Really? Thanks, because I couldn’t figure that out on my own.”

I hold my hands up, palms out in front of me. “Sorry.”

He sighs. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Angry?” I try, but don’t manage to keep my own anger out of my voice.

He glares at me. “You left me. You left and didn’t come back, just like…” He clenches his fists and stops in his tracks, taking a deep breath. “Anyway—“

But I don’t let him continue. “Just like what?”

He stops and I can see him squeeze his eyes shut. “Dammit! I thought I fucking dealt with all this shit!” He inhales, filling his entire chest, holding his breath before letting it out in one long exhale. When he looks at me, his anger is simmering rather than ready to explode and rain damage all around him. It’s new and mature. Very different from the fly-off-the-handle hot-head he used to be. Well, he’s still a hot-head, but maybe less often.

I carefully ask him again. “Like what, Gunnar?”

He turns to face me. “You left me like Mom and Dad left me.”

Oh fuck. His words hit me like a ton of bricks and I lean against Bjorn’s car. “Gunnar.”

---