Page 46 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“Sick little weasel,” Ruth continued with disgust. “Apparently he’d been obsessing over you for months, collecting information, building this fantasy relationship in his head. When you started talking to Jake on the show, he snapped.”
Jake remained silent, nursing his coffee and avoiding Faith’s eyes. She studied his profile, noting the tension in his jaw, the way he held himself apart from their conversation.
“Jake?” Faith’s voice was tentative. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he said curtly, still not looking at her.
Gretchen cleared her throat from the stove. “I’ll just take this breakfast up to my apartment,” she said diplomatically, already transferring food to a tray. “Leave you folks to sort things out.”
Ruth’s eyes darted between them, her sharp gaze picking up on the undercurrents. “And I think I’ll go call Edward and tell him about last night’s adventure. He’ll be so proud that his fireplace poker lessons paid off.”
She bustled out of the kitchen, leaving Faith and Jake alone in a silence that felt heavier than the Victorian’s old beams.
“Jake, what’s wrong?” Faith tried again. “The stalker’s caught. It’s over. We should be celebrating.”
Jake finally looked at her, and Faith was startled by the pain in his blue eyes. “Is it over, Faith? Really?”
“What do you mean?”
Jake set down his coffee mug with deliberate precision. “Last night, when that bastard mentioned Steve, you froze. Completely froze. For a moment, you weren’t here—you were somewhere else, somewhere he put you.”
Faith felt her defenses rising. “I was shocked. Anyone would have reacted?—”
“No.” Jake’s voice was quiet but firm. “That wasn’t shock. That was terror. Pure, bone-deep terror of a man who’s been dead for five years.”
The words hit Faith like a physical blow. “That’s not?—”
“Isn’t it?” Jake stood abruptly, pacing to the window. “Faith, I’ve been walking on eggshells around you for weeks, trying to figure out how to love you without triggering whatever landmines Steve left behind. And last night, watching you crumble at the mere mention of his name…” He turned back to her, frustration and anguish warring in his expression. “How am I supposed to compete with a ghost?”
“You’re not competing with anyone!” Faith’s voice rose. “Steve is dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.”
“Can’t he?” Jake’s laugh was bitter. “He’s been controlling your choices from the grave, Faith. Every time I try to get close to you, every time we have a moment of real intimacy, you pull away. You flinch when I touch you unexpectedly. You panic when I raise my voice. You won’t even let me love you properly because you’re so terrified I’ll turn into him.”
Faith shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. “That’s not fair. I’ve been trying?—”
“Trying to manage me,” Jake interrupted. “Trying to control every interaction so you feel safe. But that’s not a relationship, Faith. That’s damage control.”
The kitchen felt too small, the air too thick. Faith wrapped her arms around herself, a gesture Jake recognized as pure self-protection. “So what are you saying? That I’m too broken for you? Too damaged?”
“I’m saying you’re still married to him.” The words came out harsher than Jake intended, but he couldn’t take them back. “Not legally, but emotionally. Steve Slater is still dictating the terms of your life, and until you’re willing to bury him for good, there’s no room for anyone else.”
Faith’s face went white. “How dare you. How dare you throw my trauma back in my face like it’s some character flaw I should just get over.”
“That’s not what I’m doing?—”
“Yes, it is!” Faith’s professional composure finally cracked completely. “You think because you’ve read a few psychology articles and watched me work through my issues, you understand what it’s like? You think healing from abuse is like recovering from a broken bone—just give it time and therapy and everything goes back to normal?”
Jake ran his hands through his hair, frustration radiating from every line of his body. “I think you’re a brilliant therapist who helps other people heal from their trauma every single day, but you won’t apply that same wisdom to your own life.”
“Don’t.” Faith’s voice was deadly quiet. “Don’t you dare use my profession against me.”
“Then stop hiding behind it!” Jake’s control finally snapped. “You give other people permission to be vulnerable, to take risks, to trust again. But when it comes to your own life, you’re still that terrified twenty-two-year-old who thought marriage was supposed to be a fairy tale.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Faith stared at Jake as if he’d struck her, her green eyes bright with unshed tears and fury.
“You want to know what I think?” she said finally, her voice trembling with emotion. “I think you’re just as scared as I am. You fell for the idea of rescuing me, of being the knight in shining armor who saves the broken princess. But now that you’re confronted with the reality of what that means—the hard work, the setbacks, the fact that healing isn’t linear—you’re looking for an exit strategy.”
Jake’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”
