Her Reluctant Husband by Erica Marselas (books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

her arms crossed over her chest. "Do you always tell people about your sexual conquests?"

“You went to her crying about us—”

“I didn’t—"

I hold up my hand to stop her snarling excuse. “You didn’t have to say the words, June. She knew you were mad at me for whatever reason and so in order to not lose this house, I had to put in a good word. I would say fucking you on the counter is trying in my book.”

"What about that first time?"

The first time?

"What are you talking about?"

"The first time we ever fucked. Did you ever tell anyone?"

“Why are you jumping to the fucking past? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because…” Her eyes drift away from me and she shakes her head. “Never mind. Forget I asked," she snaps and charges back into the house.

Oh no, we're having this out.

I’m hot on her heels and catch her arm as she makes it to the landing of the steps. “I’m not forgetting June,” I yell. “For fucks sake, will you just stop running away from me.”

She yanks herself out of my hold and spins back to me, her amber eyes glazed over darkly. She’s pissed, but so am I. “What? What do you want?” She clenches her fists at her sides and her face is as red as her hair. “Nothing ever good comes when we talk, so I’d rather avoid it.”

“I just want to know why you’re trying to make me go down memory fucking lane with you?"

"Because you're not the only one with unresolved issues of the past," she shouts.

"I don't remember. So, what if I did? Back then I’d been fucking craving your pussy for years. I was happy to have finally—"

"You're right. Sorry," she cuts me off. "The whole thing brought up a bad memory. It's not you." She looks away from me to stare at the pictures on the wall.

I grab her chin to have her look at me. "What are you not telling me?"

She sighs and mumbles, "Everything."

"Everything?” I scoff and drop my hand from her face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said, Alex. It was a bad memory and now I want to forget I brought it up."

"Well, you did, and I want to know what you're talking about."

"Please. Don't act like you give a shit about me and what I’m going through."

"Maybe I do,” I say firmly. “I told you before; you’re ingrained in my fucking brain. The good, the bad, you’re all there, all hours of the fucking day. And for god sakes you wake me up every night with those fucking dreams you’re having, so how do you expect me to avoid what is going on with you?"

Her eyes close tightly and she grips the edge of her shirt. "Sorry to be such a fucking inconvenience to you and your fucking precious sleep."

“I didn’t say that, did I?” I grit through my teeth.

“The thing is, Alex, you’ve never wanted to hear it before, so you know what? Those nightmares that keep you awake will always be there because I have to fucking deal with them alone. Like I always have because no one will understand what I have seen or what I have been through.”

“What if I said I wanted to move past the past. Try forgiving. Like Liz wanted?”

She stifles a laugh. “Actions, Alex. Sure, I see moments where I don’t think you’re totally heartless when it comes to me, but you’re still carrying a pretty hefty grudge. You show me daily you want nothing to do with me or what happened. And even if you were to take a second to listen to what I had to say about the events of that night, I don’t think you would believe me and that’s what hurts the most. So, I don’t see how moving on or forgiveness is possible when you’ll always blame me.”

“But you did fuck up that night. It’s just now I can tell you feel bad for what happened. I get you’re sorry and I don’t want to have to rehash it out anymore. So, what else can I do to show you I want to try and move on from this point?”

She shakes her head. “That’s what I mean. You still don’t want the full story.”

“Does it fix anything?”

She chews on her lip and bows her head. “It can’t fix the past, but it could fix the future. I just don’t know if you are ready to hear it because it means you taking some of the blame too.”

“The blame? Me?” My eye twitches and I need to get out of here before I lose my shit. “I have work to do.” I charge around her and storm up the steps.

“You talk about me running when I don’t want to deal,” she shouts after me. “But look who’s running off now when things get hard. You need to open your eyes, Alex. It’s not all about you.”

My back is tight, the day has turned to night, and I haven’t left my room since the debacle with June earlier. But I finally finished with my presentation on the Peterson advertisement. I feel this promotion is within my grasp. I slam my laptop lid shut and roll back in my chair, knocking the framed photo on my desk in my wake.

I recover the black frame and lean back in my chair to stare at it. I smile remembering the day we took this. I had taken the girls out to the Fall Festival in town. Carnival rides, pig races, and all the funnel cake you could eat. It was tradition that we went every year, and we entered the all you can eat pancake eating contest. This picture was