You're not to blame, they'd told him. We still love you, and always will. But . . .
In that moment his world had turned upside down. So why was this worse somehow? Why was it worse to realize that Emma could and would walk away from him? Could and would, he thought, because he'd made her feel less when he should have done everything in his power to make her feel more.
He heard the door open. "Thanks," he said as Del came out. "Really."
"I should say it's no big deal, but I'm not going to."
Jack managed a weak laugh. "God, Del, I fucked up. I fucked it up and I'm not even sure exactly how. But what I know is I hurt her. I really hurt her, so you're welcome to kick my ass as promised. But you'll have to wait until I'm finished doing it."
"I can wait."
"She said she's in love with me."
Del took a pull on his beer. "You're not an idiot, Jack. Are you going to stand there and tell me you didn't know?"
"Not completely, or altogether. It's all just happened, and . . . No, I'm not an idiot, and I knew we were heading toward something. That. But then there's this leap, and I'm flat-footed. Can't keep up, can't figure out how to deal with it, or what to say, and she's so hurt, so hurt and pissed off she won't give me a chance. She hardly ever gets mad. You know how she is. She hardly ever blows, and when she does, you don't have a prayer."
"Why did she blow?"
He went back for the beer, but still didn't sit. "I had a pisser of a day, Del. I'm talking the kind of day that makes hell look like Disney World. I'm filthy and pissed off and have a motherfucker of a stress headache. I pull up, and she's there. In the house."
"I didn't know you gave her a key. Major step for you, Cooke."
"I didn't. I hadn't. She got it from Michelle."
"Uh-oh. Infiltrated the front lines, did she?"
Jack stopped, stared. "Is that how I am? Come on."
"It's exactly how you are, with women."
"And that makes me, what, a monster, a psycho?"
Del hitched a hip onto the deck rail. "No, a little phobic, maybe. So?"
"So, I'm filthy and my mood matches it, and she's there. She's made these pots for the deck. What are you laughing at?"
"Just imagining your shock and dismay."
"Well, Jesus, she's cooking, and there's flowers, and the music's blasting, and my head's screaming. God, if I could rewind it, I would. I would. I'd never hurt her."
"I know."
"She's hurt and pissed because . . . I'm being a prick. No question, but instead of having a fight, maybe yelling at each other for a while, clearing the air, it turns." Because the headache wanted to bully its way back, Jack rubbed the cold bottle over his temple. "It turns and dives south. It's how I don't trust her, and she's not welcome in my house. How she's not going to settle. She's in love with me, and she wants . . ."
"What does she want?"
"What do you think? Marriage, kids, the whole ball. I'm trying to keep up, trying to keep my head from just blasting off my shoulders and think, but she won't give me time. She won't let me deal with what she just said. She's done with me, with us. I broke her heart. She cried. She's crying."
Her face flashed back into his mind until he was sick with regret. "I just want her to sit down, to wait a minute, and sit down. Just until I can get my breath, until I can think. She won't. She told me to stay away from her. I'd rather she'd shot me than look at me the way she did when she told me to stay away from her."
"Is that it?" Del asked after a moment.
"That's not enough?"
"I asked you once before, and you didn't answer. I'll ask you again. Yes or no this time. Are you in love with her?"
"Okay." He took a long drink of beer. "Yes. I guess it took an ass-kicking to shake it out of me, but yes. I'm in love with her. But-"
"Do you want to fix it?"
"I just said I was in love with her. Why wouldn't I want to fix it?"
"You want to know how?"
"Goddamn it, Del." He drank again. "Yes, since you're so fucking smart. How do I fix it?"
"Crawl."
Jack blew out a breath. "I can do that."
CHAPTER TWENTY
HE STARTED CRAWLING IN THE MORNING. HE HAD THE SPEECH he'd edited, revised, and expanded most of the night in his head. The trick, as far as he could tell, would be getting her to listen to him.
She'd listen, he told himself as he turned into the Brown Estate. She was Emma. No one was more kind, more open-hearted, than Emma-and wasn't that only one of the dozens of reasons he loved her?