Page 93 of Unbreakable
“I want you to stop theorizing and fucking do something about it!”
“I defended you when she was being nasty about you before I left for California. You want me to call her up right now and cancel our nice night together and go yell at my mom for being a bitch?”
“You’re so irrational, J,” I said, mocking his voice. I knew I was being immature, but I was so tired of this kind of shit.
“That’s not what I’m saying!”
“You sure about that, captain?” I asked. “Because that’s sure what it sounds like.”
“Stop,” he barked. “What the hell is going on? We never do this, Jeanine.”
My breaths were short, shallow, and shaky. “Yeah, well, maybe we should have started a long time ago when your mom said it was my fault we lost a baby. When I was your wife, andshe said I was your slutty Hooters waitress girlfriend. When she said you could get your marriage annulled after I lost the baby.”
Dylan’s mouth popped open and he looked stunned. “You heard it all, then,” he said.
“I should have stood up for myself because you sure as hell weren’t going to stand up for me.” I pressed my lips together to stop tears from forming. Dylan just sat there, stock still and silent. “Did you want to leave me, Dyl? When all that happened?”
My question snapped his attention back to me. “Jeanine, you almostdidleave me then. Don’t make this all about me.” He shook his head, the tip of his nose going red like he was going to cry. “That time was really hard, Jeannie. You packed your bag, and then when you finally did go . . . he was there.”
The air was knocked clean out of me. I cocked my head to the side. “You said that wasn’t my fault, that he took advantage of me being in a vulnerable state.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t your fault.” Dylan rubbed at his eye. “I’m just . . . never going to trust that guy.”
“Again, not my fault,” I pointed out.
“No, it’s not. But that time was terrible, J. You were hurting, and I was scared of what you might do. It was really hard on me, but I couldn’t tell you. I just wanted you to love me and you were . . . unreachable.”
I stretched to snag a tissue from the box. “So what, you wanted to leave? I didn’t want to hurt you, Dylan. I didn’t want to drag you down. You probably should have left. I’m a fucking head case and you could have found a cool chill girl to go along with whatever you wanted?—”
“Jeannie, don’t talk like that.” Dylan scooted closer to me, taking both of my hands despite one of them having a very soggy tissue in it. “I didn’t want to leave you then, and I don’t want to leave you now.”
“Don’t want to,” I said with a hiccup, “but are you going to do it anyway?”
Dylan got on his knees in front of me, both of us still sitting on the floor. “I’m not leaving you, baby. I don’t want to. I’ve never once doubted the decision to be with you, even when it hurt and when it was hard. And I don’t want you to leave, either.”
“You see that you already did leave me, right, Dylan? You left me the second you chose hockey over my happiness. And then you abandoned me. You told me this was all fine, and you and I both know it’s not fine.”
“It’s not that simple, J. It wasn’t a matter of hockey or you. It’s my job. My sport. The thing I love to do.”
I planted him with a look. “The thing you love more than your wife?”
He blinked hard and hung his head, then looked up at me. “Jeanine, I want you to hear this with an open mind. You don’t get to fight me on it until you’ve heard it all.”
“Don’t tell me—” I was winding up for another rant.
“Jeanine!” he snapped. “Please?”
I jumped, surprised he raised his voice. “Okay.”
“Hockey is not flexible. Hockey isn’t as strong as you are. I know you can recover from hard things, J. We’ve been through the worst kind of hell together, and I had confidence our relationship could weather this change.” I rolled my lips between my teeth. “But I should have been better about saying that. You’re right. I shouldn’t have been so . . .”
“Obnoxiously optimistic?” I supplied.
He chuckled. “Sure. Yes, that.” Then he pressed his lips together, seemingly thinking. “Jeannie, I was scared too. Furious. I felt betrayed. I didn’t want to move here. And I was afraid if I didn’t hold it together, we’d all come apart. I needed you too, but I didn’t know how to ask for you. I still need you.”
I reached for his hand and rubbed my thumb over the back of it. “I would have supported you in that, Dylan. Then both of us wouldn’t feel so alone. You didn’t communicate that you were sad or scared or furious or betrayed. You just left me alone.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” he said.
