Blame it on the Vodka (Blame it on the Alcohol)

“No, Austin,” she denied, shaking her head fiercely. “You didn’t let it. You didn’t know.”

“I did,” I said louder, all of it bubbling up, searching for a way out. The obvious signs clawed at my skin, banged against the door I tried to keep her behind to save myself. My limbs ached from forcing the door closed—from holding still for too long. Needing to move, I thrust my mug onto the side table, ignoring the hot coffee sloshing over. I flung the covers back and stood, pacing, uncaring of my nudity. “I saw it this whole time. I fucking saw the signs, Rae. I saw them and let it happen because I refused to look close enough.” I shoved my fingers into my hair and tugged. Anything to release the pressure. “All because I was too hurt to watch you with someone else. All because I just didn’t fucking look close enough.”

She set her mug aside more gently than I did and rose to her knees in the middle of the bed, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Austin, I hid it, okay?” When I moved to object, she shook her head. “It was a slow progression, and it wasn’t like he beat me up or anything.”

I jerked to a stop and stared her down. My nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge. “Don’t you dare brush this aside as nothing,” I threatened.

“I’m not. It’s just that it wasn’t the same as my dad. Bodie was just rough and pushy.”

With a growl, I went back to pacing and ripping the strands out of my skull. “The bruises. I fucking saw the fucking bruises. And I just let them go.”

“Austin…” she called, but I could barely hear past my rage. Rage at Bodie. Rage at myself. “Austin!” Her voice cracked over the plea for me to hear her. But all I could imagine was that same sound coming from her beautiful lips when she was left alone with Bodie and pleaded with him to stop.

I snapped, making a decision. I stomped to my dresser and yanked out a pair of pants, almost tearing them in my haste to get them on.

“Goddammit, Austin,” she yelled, but I was too focused to listen anymore.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“What?” she screeched.

“I’m going there right now, and I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Wait. No. Stop. Austin, we broke up. I know you’re mad, but I handled it, okay?” she explained as if that would calm me down. “I don’t need you to do this. I don’t want you to.”

“Tough shit, Raelynn. I’m your husband.” I punctuated each declaration with a stab against my chest. “You are my wife—mine, and I protect what is mine.”

I waited for her to agree, to tell me she understood. Instead, as if in slow motion, her body curled in on itself. Sitting back on her heels, her eyes dropped, and a different kind of warning punctured my bubble of rage.

“But I’m not your wife,” she declared softly. “Not really.”

I stumbled back, my ass hitting the edge of the dresser, wishing I hadn’t heard it. Wishing I could rewind and never hear it ever again.

The ride was no longer swinging. It was in a straight free fall.

“No,” I begged, barely managing to mouth the denial.

“Austin, this was all just an accident—a great one, but…” She stared at the sheets we crumpled last night. “It was an accident we knew we had to fix eventually. It was an accident that never really made us husband and wife.”

Each word threatened to take me to my knees. I clung to the edge of the wooden dresser as if it was my last grip on sanity. “No,” I muttered. Her eyes lifted, and I saw every ounce of sadness and grief storming through my veins mirrored in hers. “No!” I stood, ready to fight. “It’s all bullshit, and you know it. I get it, Rae. I get it now. You’re scared, but it’s us—it’s me. We can make this happen. We can make it work.”

“No. This has all been us pretending to make it work.”

“I haven’t been pretending. And neither have you,” I declared. Maybe if I said it firmly enough, I could make her believe it. “I’ve seen how real it is with every look and every touch. I know you feel it. Just let it happen, Rae. Jesus,” I threw my hands out, begging. “Give it a chance.”

She shook her head before I’d even finished. “I can’t. I’m no—” her words cut off as if even they’d rather choke in her throat than be said. “I’m not that girl, Austin. I’m not the wife you’ve been holding out for. It was nice to pretend that maybe I could be that girl for a while, but I need to be honest for both of us. I can’t be her forever. It’s not me.”