Rebel(51)
Through the window I see thick clouds rolling towards us, not quite obscuring the sun, but soon. Looks like crappy weather’s coming our way. Awesome. Suits my mood better anyway. I was getting a bit sick of all the happy people hanging out in their designer swimwear, lounging around happily on the sundecks talking in happy voices about how awesome everything fucking is. Because it’s not.
“Gavin.”
I don’t turn to face the voice. Of course I recognize it. She sounds angry, disappointed and sad, all at the same time. How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? I’ve got enough going on in my own head, thanks.
When I don’t answer, Angie slides onto the stool next to me. Having her near me drives me crazy, muscle memory remembering last night and eager to go again. She’s wearing a flowery sundress that’s sheer enough that in the right light, I bet I could see everything.
I want to tear it off to see if she’s wearing anything underneath. Common sense says she is, but my imagination is convinced she isn’t, filling my mind with images of fucking her right on top of the bar, in front of everyone. Hell, why shouldn’t I? The damage is already done.
The bartender gives us a curious look but keeps his distance until she speaks to him. “Could I have two glasses of water, please?” She sounds cool and collected. A far cry from how I left her. Gone from molten heat to frosty ice.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Caldwell.” We watch in silence as he pulls down two tall beer glasses, fills them with ice out of a bucket under the bar, then pours them full of water. With a practiced motion, he slides them down the bar just like he did with my scotch. “I’d keep a hand on them, though. The seas are getting choppy out there.” After seeing us catch, he moves to the other end of the bar, pretending not to watch us.
“Thank you.” Taking one glass for herself, Angie pushes the other towards me. “Unless you want to feel even more miserable after you’re done feeling miserable, you should drink some water.” I watch her sip hers but I don’t touch mine. It’s a stupid kind of spiteful pride.
Minutes drag by without either of us saying anything. What does she want? An apology? She’s not getting it. Not unless I’m sure, and I’m not good at that apologizing shit anyway. I can’t blame the cruise on her, or our crazy fucking wedding, but for all I know she just grabbed the perfect opportunity.
Fuck, that sounds lame even to me.
“So tell me. What do you want?” I lash out at her like a wounded animal. “Money for college? A house in France? A diamond-studded hobby horse? Can’t put a price on love, can you? But a baby on the other hand... gold mine.”
She stiffens, but doesn’t answer. Just nurses her water, ignoring me in a way that I can’t ignore. Every minute she spends not looking at me is a minute I want to grab her chin and force her to look in my eyes. Quiet Angie is new. I don’t know her, and I don’t like her. Give me ball-busting Angie any day.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she opens her mouth. “I want...” Dragging it out. No idea if she’s still thinking or just baiting me. “I want you to get the fuck over yourself.” There she is. The bitch is back. Good.
“Me? That’s fucking rich. You can drop the act now, babe. You won.” I reach for the water then change my mind, refusing to take anything from her. Instead, I do what I do best. Lash out again. “Will you name him after me, at least?”
She keeps her voice even, but her fists tighten until her knuckles turn white. When she looks at me, cold fury stabs at me from her narrowed eyes. “I don’t know what people have done to you. Maybe they’ve been horrible. Maybe you have every right to be suspicious, but maybe you’re just so freaking full of yourself that you can’t see past your own damn nose.”
“Angie—”
She cuts me off. “Shut up. I’m not done.” It’s not just fury. There’s a sadness in her eyes as well. “But when you blow up and blame me for a stupid mistake—which for the record is as much yours as it is mine—like I’m out to get you, that doesn’t make you a freaking victim. It just makes you petty and small.”
“You don’t fucking know me.” I hiss it out through clenched teeth, hating how I sound like a whiny kid. The pain inside still wants to get out, and impulse control’s never been my strong suit. “You have no idea what my life’s been like. Don’t fucking judge me.”
Sipping her water, she takes her sweet time. Is she doing it on purpose to aggravate me? She doesn’t even look at me when she speaks. “I feel sorry for you.”