Don't Kiss the Bride

He motions with his hand for me to come in, and his eyes languidly travel from my socked feet up to the bare skin of my thighs.

“What’s up?” he asks, diverting his attention to his phone.

My heart plunges down into my stomach at his lack of reaction.

“I just wanted to say hi.”

He throws me a quick glance and a grin. “Hi.”

I clasp my hands nervously in front of me, feeling awkward and not at all sexy as I imagined in my head. Gus snakes around my feet, shedding fur onto my socks, and then jumps on the bed to get cozy.

Am I being ghosted? Dumped? Friend-zoned?

“How was your day?” I ask.

“Long.”

I wish he’d tell me about annoying or crazy homeowners. Or how one of his guys shot himself in the foot with a nail gun. Or how he heard a song on the radio that reminded him of me.

“Is something wrong?” I force myself to ask.

His jaw muscle ticks and he tosses his phone onto his bed. “No, why?”

I can’t pinpoint when it happened, but he’s put an invisible wall up between us. And he did it so fast, so smooth. He told me all about his love ’em and leave ’em past, but to witness it being so skillfully executed is shocking.

If it wasn’t happening to me, I’d be impressed.

But I’m not impressed. I’m dying inside with every passing second, wondering what the hell happened to our plan of trying to find out if we’re perfect for each other.

Or did he come to the conclusion that we’re not, and he doesn’t want to tell me?

“I thought things were perfect.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Huh?”

I screw my eyes shut, trying to reverse the tears ready to spill. I didn’t mean to actually say those words—they just came out.

“Nothing, I—” I run my tongue along the edge of my teeth. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired.”

He certainly looks tired with shadows under his eyes, and slouched shoulders.

Kneeling down next to him, I reach out and comb his hair out of his face.

“I think you’re doing too much since you got rid of Kyle. Have you had any luck hiring someone to replace him?”

“A new guy started on Monday. Bob. He’s doing good.”

I nod, wondering why he stopped talking to me about stuff that goes on at his job.

“Are you thinking about Erin?” I ask softly. “We can talk about it…”

“I’m just tired, Skylar,” he says, not looking at me. “Stop digging.”

Hurt, I lean back on my heels. My heart is racing with anxiety and anguish. He’s never spoken to me so quick and cold.

“Okay.”

I move to stand but he grabs my hand. “Wait…” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Jude, what’s going on?” I ask. “And don’t tell me you’re tired or it’s your back.”

He let’s go of my hand, and I guess that’s the answer right there in that simple, yet glaring, action.

“I’m not lying about that stuff, but I think we need a little break.”

My stomach pitches.

“A break?” My voice cracks in the middle of the word, and it comes out sounding like brrr-ache.

“Don’t cry. Please,” he says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

I didn’t realize tears were spilling down my cheeks until he brushes them off my face with his hand. And it’s shattering, that the same touch—his palm over my cheek—has ignited love in me so many times, now feels like such a betrayal to my heart.

“I think we need to take a step back,” he says hoarsely. “Think about things.”

“What things?” I croak. “Why?”

When he doesn’t answer I ask, “Is there someone else?”

“No,” he says immediately. “Fuck no.”

I’ve never been dumped before. Even when my father left, he just disappeared. I’ve never experienced this agony of looking in the eye of the person I love and seeing good-bye there.

Suddenly all the sad love songs make so much sense.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper, sucking in a sniffly breath. “What did I do wrong?”

“Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing.”

“Then what the fuck?” Anger has surfaced like a best friend coming to defend me.

“I think the age thing might be a little too much. I think we need to kinda slow things down, maybe wait—”

“My age didn’t matter when your dick was shoved up me.”

His chest rises and falls in deep, controlled breaths. “Skylar, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say shitty things because you’re upset. This was never about sex and you know it.”

“Then what is it about? Because I don’t understand.”

“It’s exactly what I said. I never should’ve let things go as far as they did. I’m sorry for that, I really am.”

“You’re sorry,” I repeat. “That’s just great.”

His gray eyes lock on mine, and I can see the sorrow and the remorse there, mingling with the pain of whatever’s going on inside him.

This is hurting him just as much as it’s hurting me. I just don’t understand why he’s doing it.