Revive (Storm MC 3)

His face clouded over. He’d obviously expected he could tell me what to do without any argument from me. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that I am not the kind of woman you can order around. What the hell happened to us having a rational conversation about this? You know, like the one we had about my insecurities. The one where you said you hated women who automatically suspected you of cheating? Because it sure as hell feels like it’s one rule for you and another for me.”

“Velvet, you’re twisting my words. I never said I didn’t trust you. I simply said I don’t want you flirting. Can you manage that?

“Fuck you, Nash!” I yelled, finally losing my cool. “Yes, I can manage not to fucking flirt but what you don’t get is that I won’t be told to do anything. You can ask me to do anything but the minute you just make a ruling and call it done, that’s not fucking on.”

He stood there, taking in what I’d said, eyes flashing anger, and his face hard. The tension clung to the air while we remained silent, having said what we both wanted. Checkmate.

My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest I was so angry. And hurt. He’d really fucking hurt me. I decided to finally put that space between us I wanted to before. “I’m getting back to work now,” I told him. My tone made it clear there would be no argument.

He blew out an angry breath, and stepped aside to let me through.

Neither of us said another word, and the pain I felt in my chest as I walked away reminded me why I avoided getting close to men.

Chapter 26

The Great Escape ~ Pink

Velvet

I pushed the doona off me, got out of bed and traipsed into the kitchen to get a drink. Bella followed me and almost made me trip when she insisted on getting in my way. I bent down and picked her up. “Baby, don’t make me fall over. I’ve had a shitty night as it is. I don’t need to add a broken leg to my list of things I’d rather forget.”

When we hit the kitchen, I placed her back on the ground and made a cup of tea. Nash would not leave my thoughts; I’d been tossing and turning for hours. I checked the time. Just after four am.

Shit.

I hadn’t heard from him after our argument, and my stomach felt sick over it. Although I was angry at him, I wanted to work it out. I hated the silence that fights caused between people. And the doubting. I fucking hated the doubting

.

Shit.

I drank my tea while mentally sifting through the jobs I had to get through in the morning. My reasoning was that if I was busy thinking about that, I wouldn’t be busy thinking about Nash.

I was so wrong.

“Fuck it, give up, cause you’re never gonna stop thinking about him,” I muttered to myself as I washed my mug up. “Shit, now you’re even talking to yourself.”

I was deep in thought when there was an almighty bashing on my front door. At least that’s where I thought it was coming from. A couple of moments later, I peered through the curtain to see Nash standing on my verandah.

I opened the door to find him waiting for me with an intense look on his face. He didn’t wait for an invitation to come inside; just barged straight in and stalked to my kitchen where the light was on. I didn’t particularly want to talk to him while he was in this kind of mood so I took my time following him.

When I got to the kitchen, I didn’t give him a chance to say anything; I spoke first. “If you’ve come to keep arguing, I’m not interested. I don’t want to fight anymore, Nash.”

“I do trust you, Velvet,” he started, his voice rough, not at all what I was expecting. The anger I thought he was projecting was something else instead. There was almost a brokenness to it; to him. My heart listened closely while he kept talking, because I was sure he was about to crack himself wide open for me. “I’m fucked up though, where this shit’s concerned, and I find it hard to trust.”

His voice cracked on his last word, and he stopped talking. His eyes frantically sought mine; searching for what, I wasn’t sure, but I sensed his desperate need for me to wait patiently for him to get this all out.

So, I waited.

His hand pushed through his hair, and he blew out a long breath. “I was married. Her name was Gabriella. We met when I was twenty, back when I didn’t have a clue. I would have done anything for her. I married her and planned a long fuckin’ life with her, but she threw it all away when she cheated on me. And not just once.” He placed his hands on his hips, and bent slightly forward, expelling more long breaths. It was like he couldn’t catch his breath; almost like he’d just run a fast race and was struggling. I realised that’s exactly what was happening; he definitely was struggling for breath.

I placed my hand on his back, and said, “Nash, you need to focus on your breathing. Count your breaths.”

He did as I said, and began taking longer breaths. I counted them in my head as he took them, more out of habit than anything. Memories of my mother’s experience with this flooded my mind. I hated watching him go through this just as much as I’d hated watching her. Watching someone struggle through anxiety made you feel useless and desperate; desperate to be able to take it all from them and carry their burden. But you fucking couldn’t and that was the bitch of it all.

The house was silent apart from Nash’s breathing. I welcomed the silence; it allowed me the space to think. My anger dulled as the pain spilled from him. It was in this moment I realised how broken he was. He hadn’t done the work to move past this hurt, and I wondered how long he’d been carrying it.