I don’t know where I’m going with Jameson, only that I didn’t want to speak to him tonight. Why?
Maybe I’m never going to let go of this hurt; maybe he’s done irreversible damage.
Maybe I’m too good for him and his shit . . . there’s no maybe in that sentence—I know I am.
My phone vibrates on the side table, and I frown as I see the letter J light up.
I exhale heavily and answer, “Hello.”
“Hi.” He pauses for a moment. “You weren’t calling me tonight?”
“I got distracted.”
Silence down the phone. Eventually he speaks. “Em.”
“Yes.”
“Did you go there to get away from me?”
I roll my eyes in frustration. “No, Jameson,” I whisper angrily. “Why is everything about you? I booked this trip two weeks ago.”
“Okay, I just asked. Jesus. Why are you so angry?”
Tears form in my eyes. “You really have to ask?”
“You tell me why.”
Suddenly a volcano that I didn’t even know was there erupts inside of me. “Because I’m in love with a selfish fucking asshole, and I don’t know how to turn it off, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you walk away again,” I blurt out in a rush.
He stays silent.
“And the way you just march back in and demand my forgiveness pisses me off.”
He listens.
“And you could have any woman in the world; they are lining up for you. So why are you putting me through this shit? I don’t want the heartache, Jameson.”
“Is that what you think? That I want any woman in the world?”
Tears roll down my face, and I swipe them away angrily. “I have no idea what you want anymore, Jameson.”
“Cut the fucking shit, Emily,” he snaps. “You listen, and you listen good. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve been promiscuous since I was eighteen years old. I’ve slept with a lot of women . . . and I mean a lot of women. You are the only person I have ever had this connection with. The only woman I have loved like this. So don’t you dare throw that shit at me about wanting someone else. Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?”
“Your masseuse,” I snap.
“Was before I fucking met you,” he growls. I can hear the anger in his voice. “If you don’t want me, then fine, I’ll leave. But don’t let me hold out and try desperately to make things work when you’re obviously not going to let me in.”
My face contorts with tears.
“Only you can decide if you want this, Emily. Forgiveness is a choice.”
I stay silent.
“Do you want to walk away from me, or do you want to try and make this work?”
I don’t answer him.
“Well?” he demands.
“You know I want to try,” I whisper.
“Then stop thinking of the bad shit, and think of the good between us.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you scare me.”
He falls silent. “You’re scared of me?”
“Yes.” I nod through tears.
“Baby,” he whispers as empathy floods his voice. “Don’t be scared of me. Please, don’t ever be scared of me. I love you.”
“I’m trying.” I sob. “But I can’t help it.”
We both stay silent for a while, lost in our own thoughts.
“I want you to take this weekend to think about us. I was serious about what I said—if you don’t want to live in New York, we can move. I’ll resign from my position immediately.”
“Jameson,” I sigh. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want you to know that you come first to me now. All of this shit—my money, my apartment, my job, New York—it means nothing if I’m fucking miserable, Emily. And believe me, I am fucking miserable without you. If you want to live in a tent in the back of bumfuck nowhere, we can.”
I get a vision of Jameson living in a tent and being eaten by mosquitos on the daily. “You idiot.” I smile softly. “I don’t want to live in a tent. I love New York. I love you running Miles Media. I wouldn’t change anything about you. Why would you think that I would?”
“Because I’m a lot to take on, I know that. You said to me once before that to love is to be brave. I need you to be brave, Emily, and move forward from all this. Please think about it. Come back to New York and back to me one hundred percent, and we can start working on a new life together. Holding me at arm’s distance isn’t the way to navigate this. We won’t be able to work it out if we’re not together.”