Page 65 of Chasing the Other Woman

“No.” He wipes his good hand on his jeans. “It’s just the truth.”

The wind moves between us, hot and full of grit. Somewhere nearby, a generator coughs, catches, and settles into a steady rumble.

“I’m not mad you did it,” I say.

Something flickers across his face. Surprise, maybe. Careful hope, before he buries it.

“I’m mad that it needed doing.”

His shoulders lower a fraction.

“For months, people watched Luci in my seat. They watched her beside you. They watched you rely on her. They watched me disappear from the story, and you let it happen.”

"You're right. I did."

It's not that I expected him to argue, but the agreement still knocks some of the wind out of my sails.

“I did,” he says again. “And I’m sorry.”

I look away because sorry still hits the bruise. It doesn’t break skin anymore, but it aches.

"Still, it's not nothing," I say. "I believe you meant every word. And I can see that you wanted to give me credit for what's mine."

“You deserve more than credit.”

“Maybe.” I look back at him. “But I still have a question."

"Okay."

“What happens next time?”

His face changes, all the blood seeming to leave it.

“What happens the next time you’re afraid?” I ask. “The next time I make a choice you don’t like? The next time some man looks at me too long and you decide there must be something happening because talking to me is apparently harder than ruining my life quietly?”

He flinches, but he takes it.

“What happens if there’s another pregnancy someday?” I can barely get the words out. “What happens if you get scared again? Do you take away the field? Do you take away the truck? Do you decide what’s safe for me because asking would mean you might have to hear an answer you don’t like? Do you get angry again and remove another bracelet I've given you to punish me?"

For a second, he looks as if the wind's been knocked out of him. “Sam.”

“No.” I take a deep breath because I feel like my chest is getting tighter. "Do we lose another two years because you don’t know how to be afraid without making me pay for it?”

He looks down at the gravel between us.

I want him to say no. I want him to swear he’ll never do it again and make it sound so certain that I can be stupid enough to believe him for five whole minutes.

He doesn’t.

“I can’t promise I’ll never be afraid,” he says quietly.

My chest tightens.

“But I can promise I know fear doesn’t give me the right to decide your life.”

I hate the little tremor that goes through me.

“If you don’t want me anymore,” he says, “I’ll step back.”