Page 13 of Faith Notes
My last pregnancy hormone hits the roof.
“Unreasonable. You think I’m being unreasonable?” Somewhere in the back of my brain, I can hear how hysterical I sound, but my logical side is no longer in control. “You, Grayson Lewis, are the one being unreasonable.”
Quicker than I knew I could move, I spin around and jerk the book from his hands. “This thing is not the end all be all of pregnancy.”
My hands fly through the air, waving the book in front of Grayson’s face, and his eyes track it, ready to snatch it from my clutches at the first sign that I might cause it harm.
“Careful,” he says, eyes never leaving the book, “You’ll rip it.”
At this point, my eyes are the size of saucers. The audacity this man has is astounding.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice syrupy sweet. Grayson cocks an eyebrow, wary as I step away from him, out of his reach. And when I’m standing in front of the window, that eyebrow notches higher.
“Georgia.” He says my name like a warning, but I’m long past warnings. “What are you doing?”
The laugh that escapes me is maniacal as I open the second-story bathroom window, toss the book out with a flick of my wrist, and then snap, slamming it back shut.
Grayson’s mouth hangs open as he stares at me, and with toothpaste still crusting the corners of my mouth, I offer him a smile and march right out of the room.
“Stupid book.”
______________________
The rhythmic whirl of the fan pounds in my ears.
All I can hear is the silence stretching between Grayson and me.
He’s lying on his side of the bed, back turned my way while I stare up at the offending fan, watching it spin around and around.
All the ways I should break the ice keep running through my head, yet I can’t bring myself to say a word.
We haven’t spoken since I threw his book out the window. After I left the room, I marched myself to the kitchen, grabbed a cup of orange juice and some crackers, and parked my butt on the couch. He had followed down the stairs, and I watched as he walked out the door, shoulders slumped, and picked up the book. He didn’t come back inside, and I didn’t chase after him.
I’m a royal jerk, and now I don’t know how to apologize.
I attempt to clear my throat, hoping it will make him turn around because if he would just turn around and face me, I could make this better, but he remains staring at the wall.
My throat aches from the tears I’m suppressing.
I’m angry—at myself and these stupid hormones that make me feel like an alien in my own body. But mostly, I’m mad because I hurt the man I love.
With a shuttering breath, I roll over on my side, facing Grayson.
“Gray.” His name leaving my lips is timid.
His answer is a questioning hum, but he doesn’t turn around.
He has every right to be mad at me, but I don’t want to go to sleep tonight like this. I know all too well that time is fleeting. I should have fixed this before now, and if I were in my right mind, I would have.
But I’m going insane.
“Gray, I’m sorry.”
His sigh is deep and long before he finally rolls over to face me. “I just want to help, Peach, and I don’t know how to.”
The crack in his voice nearly breaks me.
“I’m sorry, Gray. I’m so sorry.” Tears clog my throat, and I will them not to fall.
