Forget Me Not (14 page)

So, do I fight? Do I confront him? Wake him up to accuse him of already being in a relationship when he’s here with me?

My hands grip hold of the kitchen counter as I steady myself. The Google search I did confirmed his stud ways so I can’t be surprised by this revelation. And yet I am. Because I have kidded myself into believing that was in his past and I am in his future. Except, is she in his present? I can only blame myself for not having this conversation sooner. I should have it now.  

Something is stopping me. It’s implausible to think he can stay for much longer when his work, his home, his life, is in New York so his time here’s limited. Do I risk ruining our remaining time together by bringing up a girlfriend that he may or may not have?

I need to check the text message.

I need to have enough kindle to fire this conversation up. I have to know what I’m up against and whether this girl is a threat. Has he been texting her the whole time he has been here? The urgency to dissect the text message, their communication and their relationship is overwhelming and the snoop in me has been called forth.

Seeking courage, I top up my glass. I pour half of the glass’s contents down my throat and delight in the warmth. As I put the rest of the bottle back into the fridge I hear Jesse stirring on the sofa, interrupting my plan.

Shit
.

Searching the room, his tired eyes find me over the breakfast bar and he yawns happily.

“Hey,” he groans, stretching his arms out and sitting up.

“Hi.”

I’m completely out of my depth now. Do I go with my gut and just ask him outright about the meaning of the text message? Or do I just add it to the list of things we aren’t to discuss. At least until the weekend is over. Why ruin something so perfect for what potentially could be nothing?

Jesse ambles over to meet me, squinting through the harsh light of the kitchen. Even through the anger, I can appreciate this sleepy beauty. He looks sweet through his grogginess and yet his blue eyes are still fierce. If I wasn’t so damn mad I’d be all over him.

He stops just short of me and looks at me apprehensively. He scans the glass of wine in my hand and his brow furrows slightly.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, caution ringing clear in his voice.

“Of course,” I lie. I guess this is the way I am playing it...for now. “Would you like a drink?”

“No thanks, I think it’d just send me straight back to sleep, and I have far more exciting things planned.” He waggles his eyebrows and smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. I know he can sense something is off.

I move around him and walk back to the couch, forcing a smile to ease his evident concern. He follows me but makes no move to touch me.

“Like watching some TV?” I ask, not waiting for a reply. I reach for the remote and start flicking through the channels.

“That’s not what I was thinking…” I can feel his eyes burning into me but I continue to stare at the television in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

A moment passes with neither of us saying a word to each other. I’m pretending to watch a nature program, but I’m fully aware of him in my peripheral vision as he alternates between looking at me and the TV.

“Mickey, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are we going to spend the evening in complete silence?” he asks. There is an assertive edge to his voice that demands the truth, but damn, I’m stubborn.

“Please, just leave it.” I shake my head lightly, still refusing to look at him.
             

“No. You’re mad at me and I’d much prefer it if you weren’t.”

“Look, it’s your last night here and I don’t want to waste our time by spending it arguing.” I reach across and touch his hand. My eyes wander from the television screen to our partnered fingers as I try to summon the strength to forget about the text message.

“Who said it’s my last night here? Do you want me to go?” The assertiveness melts from his voice revealing heartbreaking dejection.

“I just assumed...I mean, it’s Monday tomorrow?” 

“You’re right. But, Mondays are decidedly quiet in my line of work. My busiest working hours fall on the weekend, which I’ve just spent with you.” My hand is moved to his mouth as he traces the back of my hand with his luscious lips. “I was actually hoping to stay the rest of the week. I’ve arranged for cover in the city and I can work a little from here. I guess all that’s left is for you to invite me to stay.” I struggle to hide my happiness. Despite my simmering anger a smile breaks free.

“I cordially invite you to stay.” I mutter and then bite my lower lip, suppressing the growing grin that threatens to completely rid my foul mood.

“That’s very kind of you. I accept your invitation.” He kisses my hand, much like a prince to his princess. “Now that we have more time to waste, can you please tell me what’s bothering you? If we argue now then at least we have all week to make up,” he encourages, grinning wickedly.

“Look...” I take a deep breath, in and out. “I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to be straight with me. Deal?”

“Deal.” He moves his free hand and holds up three fingers, scout’s honor.

I try to focus on what to say and how to say it. I don’t want to argue, the anger has almost completely left my body, overshadowed by the news that I get to spend the rest of the week with him.

“Are you seeing someone else?” My voice sounds so much calmer than I feel, especially when I witness the hurt plastered across his face.

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“There’s a message on your phone.”

Without hesitation he reaches for his phone. He holds it in between us, making no attempt to hide it from my view, and then slides his finger across the screen to unlock it.

I really wnt 2 c u. Me n my handcuffs REALLY wnt 2 c . Im sure we can change ur mind about us? xxx

Placing the phone back down on the coffee table, without replying, he turns to face me. His mouth is pressed into a hard line and his eyes shift from side to side as he tries to articulate an answer. “That’s Chrissie. I won’t lie to you, Mickey, I
was
sleeping with her, but it was before the reunion, before the possibility of us being together again. She’s a regular at one of my clubs and so we’d meet occasionally. But, believe me when I say that it was a casual thing, just sex. We are in no means in a relationship. And whatever we did have, I finished it the morning after the reunion.” A faint smile teases his lips. “I guess I already knew that that wasn’t the end for us.”

“So, why is she still texting you?”

“I don’t know. I’ll put a stop to it.” He’s looking deep into my eyes, stressing the sincerity of his words. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

I believe him. I don’t think he’s in a relationship with her, but I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt to hear him talk about being with another woman. And, I know that there’s more. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does, and before I know it the question explodes from my mouth.

“Have you slept with a lot of regulars from your clubs?” I ask, cringing. I want to know but I’m aware that the answer I suspect is only going to add to my throbbing jealousy.

“Is that really important?”

“I know it shouldn’t be, but it is.” I try to remain relaxed. I’m looking at him waiting for his returning eye contact, but it doesn’t come. He continues to stare down, rubbing his head aggressively.

“I Googled you.” I declare.

That gets him. Finally, he looks up. “And?”

“There were articles about your private life, your love life. I tried not to pay attention but there was one in particular that I saw, one where you had your hands all over that actress, Sienna.” 

Jesse is intently focused on me. I feel ridiculously self-conscious, but it’s fleeting because he looks away once more. He shrugs his shoulders like a sulky teenager. “So?”

“So?” I repeat, emphasizing how blasé he sounds. “So…how many other women are there? How many more articles with more women?” My mask is slipping and by bitterness is now obvious. I chew the inside of my mouth, fighting the emotions brewing inside me.

“There are probably many more articles, but you shouldn’t care. I don’t. Yes, I’ve slept with other women since you, Mickey. Did you think you’d find me celibate?”

“There’s a big difference between being celibate and sleeping with…however many you appear to have slept with.”

“But none of them meant anything to me.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoff dramatically.

“Of course they didn’t. Yes, I fucked my way though my twenties, but sleeping with a lot of women doesn’t make me proud, keeping one does.” He tries to bring my hand to his mouth but I pull it away angrily causing him to roll his eyes. “Why does it even matter, Mickey?”

“It matters because if you missed me as much as I missed you, then you wouldn’t have been sleeping with every bimbo who walked through your bar.” My voice falters at the end and so I stand up to walk away. I will not cry in front of him, not again.

I walk to the kitchen but he’s behind me immediately. My back is against the kitchen counter. I’ve managed to force back the tears so far, but he’s stood directly in front of me now. There would be no hiding them if they were to return.

“That’s what you think? That because I slept around I didn’t miss you? That’s not how it is at all,” he insists. His voice is quieter now but the intensity is still present. “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t slept with other people, too.”

“Yes, that I can count on one hand, Jesse! I didn’t go looking for sex with random men. I only ever wanted you. That’s where we differ.”

“But you had a relationship with someone! You had a child with someone! That doesn’t exactly sound like you were hung up on me.”

Pain tortures his face, but my own agony counteracts my compassion.

“Of course I was hung up on you! The only reason I was with Sebastian in the first place was because I was desperately trying to forget about you! I had to forget about you…”

My hands push against his chest, not wanting him so close when I’m so angry, but he stands firm.

“What do you think I was doing with all of those women? Maybe I was trying to forget too?” He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before he opens them again. “Or perhaps I was looking for what I left behind. For you. None of them were you.”

“No, I was here, living in the same town, the same house. You didn’t need to sleep with masses of women, Jesse. You could have been with me.”

“Do you not think that I thought about coming back every day? Every single goddamn day? But coming back here meant coming back to the person that I used to be and the family that I came from. I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t come back. Shit, Michaela. I couldn’t even find the balls to come back for the funerals.”

At the mention of his family’s deaths Jesse’s body sags with grief. Glossy eyes stare down at me and then look away, but not before I see a stray tear fall down his cheek. Seeing a man normally so strong and controlled reduced to tears in front of me is my undoing. 

After desperately wanting him to move away from me, I suddenly can’t bare the agony emanating from his face, his voice, his whole body any more. I tug gently on his sweater, pulling him closer to me and kissing his cheek tenderly. His body is still weak and his breathing still unsettled. I kiss the corner of his mouth, begging him to return the gesture, but he remains still. I inch across, wanting his mouth against mine, but he pulls away.

“Jesse?”

He’s looking past me, not meeting my gaze, and I can feel him slipping away.

“You wanted to forget about me?” His words are no longer burned with anger but anguish. I desperately rack my brains, trying to remember what I said.

I had to forget about you.

He has opened up to me and been hurt in the process. The only way that I can begin to heal this is to finally unlock the doors to the place that I haven’t allowed myself to go for so long.

“Jesse, I was a mess when you left. I mean, you literally destroyed me. You left and you took everything; my happiness, my hope, my ambitions. You just left a shell. I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, and I didn’t leave my room. I just waited for you to come back. I didn’t go to NYU because I didn’t want you to come back for me and for me to be gone. My parents wanted me to see a psychiatrist,” I scoff at the memory. “Like that would have helped. The only thing that would have helped is if you came back, but you didn’t. So I had to try and forget you…or I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

Tears cloud my vision and as I blink they escape down my cheeks. I don’t care about hiding my emotions now. Besides, he still hasn’t looked at my face.

“Sebastian…was a distraction, for a long while, and then when Benjamin came along I had to be strong for him, so it became easier.” My hand cautiously cups his face and I pull his gaze back to mine. “But, I never forgot you. I’m reminded of you on every corner of Starling. You’re all around me, you’re in here.”

I place his hand over my heart.

“And in here.”

I bring his hand to my lips, kiss his palm, and then place it against the side of my head.