Page 46 of The Wife
“I did.”
Swell. Yet another way I was messing up his life, and I didn’t need the added pressure. “Damn it, Jake. I know you’re drunk, but if you think you can make me feel guilty…”
“Nothing to be guilty about,” he interrupted. “I’m the one… I’m the one who hurt you. I don’t know why I keep doing that.”
“It’s okay, Jake.”
“It’s not okay. But I want to fix it.”
He was too late. I already had the plan to fix it.
At least Jake had been right about one thing. The access road that led from the house to the cabin had been completely empty. No cattle roaming. There could have been deer, but he’d gotten lucky. I pulled up to the house and parked in front of the porch instead of under the portico. Less of a walk for him.
“Are you going to be able to get out?”
His head basically rolled in my direction and really I had to laugh. I had never seen Jake like this. He looked almost… vulnerable.
“Yes?”
“Wait for me until I open your door.”
I didn’t want him falling face-first out of the truck and risking hurting himself. Like the good little boy he was, he waited. I opened the door and steered his legs around and although he was unsteady, he managed to get out and still be on his feet. I took the bottle from his hand, and he let it go as if he didn’t realize he was still holding it.
Then he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I figured that was a good idea to keep him from falling over.
He wasn’t putting too much of his weight on me, just enough I could guide him up the front porch steps and toward the door.
Luckily the door wasn’t locked, so I turned the knob and pushed it open.
“Okay, you first. Inside.”
He stumbled but made his way inside. I followed and locked the door behind him, leaving the whiskey bottle on the small table in the foyer.
“Lockthedoor,” he slurred.
“I did lock the door. I’m not going to try and get you up the stairs, so it’s couch city for you, my drunk friend.”
I walked up to him and he put his arm around me again. I moved us in the direction of the living room. Then he dipped his head and smelled my hair.
“It always smells so good. I love your hair. Did I ever tell you that?”
“You like blondes,” I reminded him.
“I liked holding your hair in my hands when I kissed you. Like suddenly it was mine.”
Okay, I really didn’t want to talk about kissing Jake. It brought up too many memories that seemed pointless. I had to get him to the couch, where I could drop him and he could pass out.
Instead he bumped his knee into the coffee table in the middle of the room.
“Are you hurt?”
“All the time. It’s like this ache. You know?”
I didn’t. And I didn’t really want to speculate on anything. Finally I got him to the couch. I pushed him and he dropped, but then he reached for my hand and pulled me down on top of him.
Drunk Jake was still strong Jake.
His hands were wrapped around me and I was pressing my forearms against his chest, trying to get away.
