Capture Me Slowly (Shattered 3)

“My parents, ah . . .”

Rhys jumped in, cutting me off. “That’s not a good subject to talk about, Mom.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She reached across the table and patted my hand. “Sometimes I get too nosy.”

I wanted to glare at Rhys so bad. Was he so embarrassed by my upbringing that he didn’t want his mother to know about it?

“I can talk about it,” I stated. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is,” Rhys snapped.

“You don’t have to, dear,” Gwen offered. Now I felt embarrassed because an issue had been made where there didn’t need to be one. How do I get out of this? Say something? Put my head down in shame and shut up? I hated this position I was put in. And worse, hated that Rhys was appalled enough to cut me off before saying the truth about what I was and how I was raised.

Fuck it. I was going with the truth. And if Rhys was that mortified by his mother knowing, then it was best I learn that now.

“I was given up at birth. I never knew my parents.”

“Oh,” Gwen said a little shocked. “That must have been tough. So you have your adopted parents, then?”

“Nope,” I said and took a bite of food, coming off every bit as easy as I felt. Because it was the truth, one Rhys was obviously not thrilled about. “I was never adopted.”

Gwen’s expression fell, then she frowned and balled her fists. “Well, that’s their loss, honey. You’re obviously a very bright, very special girl.”

Her compliment seemed so sincere and had the same inflection Rhys’s voice sometimes held. Just another reminder that he was raised right while I was raised by the state. Barely.

The rest of dinner was fairly quiet and all I could think about was what type of conversation Rhys would want to have later, because I had plenty that I wanted to say to him.

~

“You’re upset,” Rhys said as he opened the front door of the hunting cabin and walked in.

“You’re so astute,” I said, crossing my arms in the same way he did when he was squaring off to “chat.”

“My mother is nosy, but she means well,” he said defensively.

“She was fine, my issue is with you.”

“What did I do?”

“You embarrassed me at dinner.”

“I embarrassed you?” he said and the tone of his voice made me pause.

“Is there something you’re upset with me about?”

He shook his head. “You just talk about certain things like it’s casual conversation and it’s not.”

“Your mom asked me a question and you cut me off. Are you so afraid that my past and the fact that I have no parents would make you look bad?”

“I didn’t think it was something you would want to talk about,” he said.

“Oh, really? And why is that? Because you’re still on this kick that you know me so well? That you automatically assume what I can and can’t handle? I’m a big f**king girl, and I don’t need you stepping in and defending me from myself.” Anger was rising, bubbling just beneath the surface of my skin.

“Forgive me for trying to make things easier on you.” He took off his jacket and tossed it on the table.

“I don’t need you to make anything easy on me,” I yelled. “I’m not a lost puppy and I’m not some cute woman that will break at the slightest mention of something.”

“You’re right. You are the most stubborn, self-deluding woman I’ve ever met. You’re here because you’re lost, yet you deny it.”

My chest stilled for a moment. “That was a shitty thing to say,” I growled. “You wanted me to be honest, and I have been. Yet you refuse to see what’s right in front of you.”

“Oh, I see you, Emma.”

“Do you? Because if you did, you’d see that I’m not the kind of woman that needs saving all the time. I’m in a tough spot right now, yes. And I’m not too proud to say that I enjoy being alive and would like to stay that way. But this trip you’re on about trying to erase what I am — it isn’t going to work.”

“I don’t like the idea of you . . .” He waved his hand in the air.

“Of me, what?”

“Of you suffering,” he snapped.

Something in my chest hurt. Instantly and acutely. I was angry at him for the crap he pulled, but then he goes and says things like that. Like he cares. But it didn’t matter. My past was what made me who I am. If he couldn’t handle that, he couldn’t handle me. And that thought made that stupid pain in my chest skyrocket further.

“This is why we have problems. We’re from opposite worlds, don’t you get it? You like me? Well, good for you. I like you too. But what the hell does that mean? Nothing. You know why? Because you don’t like how I came to be and my guess is, you never will. And I’m never going to have a medal for anything nor am I going to sashay around in a pantsuit driving a minivan to yoga. And you’re never going to understand me.”

He stepped closer. “That’s where you’re wrong. No, I may not understand everything about you, but I see you. And I f**king hate the fact that you had to go through what you did. No, I don’t like your past, but that has nothing to do with today.”

“But it does. Because it is what it is.”

He shook his head, like he couldn’t accept it. And somewhere in my mind, it was like he couldn’t accept me.

“You can’t save everyone. I called out for help once and you came. Don’t mistake that for meaning that my entire existence is in need of your kind of fixing.” I stepped closer. “And you may see me, but I’ve got your number too. You won’t admit to your own shit, yet you criticize me.”

“I’m not criticizing you and I’ve answered your questions.”

“Oh yeah? You gave the overview of your past, but what the hell happened overseas that makes you clam up every time it’s mentioned?”

He stilled and his chest heaved with obviously irritated inhales.

“You can’t say it, can you?” I tilted my head to examine him. “Because it’s bad, isn’t it?”

His nostrils flared and his eyes went vacant for a moment like he was recalling the very thing I was challenging him to think about.

He wouldn’t respond. I shook my head and walked past him toward the front door. My eyes were dry, my bones achy and my chest throbbing. Emotions were heavy and I was buckling under the pressure. I needed some time to think. Some space to gauge what the hell was happening to me and what to do next.