Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Sometimes they held hands, sometimes he kissed her on the head while she stood in front of the fridge perusing for a snack, and every night, he spooned her body to his in bed.
No intimacy.
No kissing.
She missed the kissing so much.
His unspoken words grew into this gigantic barred fence between them. They could see each other and find some physical contact, but they just couldn’t connect. He stayed in his cell, and she stayed in hers, afraid to push him, afraid of losing him.
Her G.
Her protector.
Her life.
“Ian’s different.” Jersey and Max took Lola and Foxy for a short walk one evening since Ian worked late and Max used any excuse to not be home with her husband. Jersey still had the boot, but she had to get out and move around for a bit.
“How so?” Max stopped as Lola pissed in a small patch of grass.
“He’s distant. I know you don’t want to hear the graphic details of our sex life, but the different part is that we’re not having sex. We’re not kissing. We’re not doing anything. I don’t know why I’m here. He hugs me at night, like a stuffed animal or body pillow. I listen to books during the day, work out, and just exist in his life. But as what?”
“They’ve been working hard on this new album. He’s feeling pressure from the label after canceling the rest of the tour. I can promise you he’s not cheating on you.”
“Cheating on me? I’m not worried about that. We’re not … well, I don’t know what we are or are not. Roommates, I guess. I mean, Chris—Kessler—used to sleep next to me and hug me. But we were just friends. If Ian’s fucking someone when he’s not at home, then I’d say I’m jealous but not mad. I mean … whatever. Sex is just sex. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m overanalyzing things. Feeling trapped in the house. I should get some sex if I want it, right?”
Max stopped, gawking at Jersey.
Blink.
Blink.
“He loves you!”
Jersey nodded slowly, eyes squinted. “Maybe. But I’m not talking about love. I’m talking about sex. And I’m talking about talking. He won’t talk to me. It’s like he’s avoiding me at all costs. I know you’re saying he’s busy, but when you guys left without me to finish the tour, he found time to talk to me, even if it was just a few minutes on the phone. He wanted to talk to me. He doesn’t want to talk now.”
Max nodded, moving forward as the dogs pulled on their leashes. “Want me to talk to him?”
“Yes. No …” Jersey sighed. “No. I don’t want him to know I said anything to you. He’s too protective of his personal life. I don’t want him to not trust me.”
“I don’t think he’s sleeping with anyone else. I really don’t.”
Jersey laughed. “It’s not about that. I know that’s hard for you to believe, but it’s not. If he found someone else to meet his needs in whatever way, I wouldn’t blame him. I tried to hurt him. He owes me nothing. But I guess I just want to know. If it’s time for me to walk, then I’ll walk. I feel like he’s holding on to me out of pity. Like he lost a bet and I’m a ratty looking dog who needs to be walked and fed every day.”
Max chuckled. “That’s not it. I don’t know what it is that’s eating at him, but I know he loves you. Even if you can’t fully wrap your head around what that means. You are the center of Ian Cooper’s world. I just think he can’t see straight at the moment. But he will.”
Jersey waited up that night for Ian. It was almost 12:30 a.m. when he came in the door.
“Hey.” She smiled, pulling her earbuds out and nodding toward the kitchen. “I have food for you. Are you hungry?”
He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter as she turned on the light over the dining room table.
“Pasta. And lots of olives.” Jersey smiled.
Ian returned a weak smile. “I just ate.”
Jersey deflated, sitting in front of her plate of lukewarm pasta. She jabbed her fork into the spaghetti and twirled it. “Know who taught me to use a knife? Who taught me to hit a target with my eyes closed?”
“Axel Smith. Ex-abused foster kid, ex-Marine turned social worker. He only showed the worst ones. Us, Jersey … we were the worst ones, the ones most badly beaten. He did it not so we’d take a life, so we could save a life.”
She lifted her gaze. “H-how do you know that?”
“Because he taught me too.”
Her head jerked back.
He looked drained, like he didn’t care if she believed him or not.
“Prove it.” She pushed out of her chair and grabbed a kitchen knife, pushing it toward his limp hand.