Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“I’m not an idiot, Wyn.”

Her back went up on that one.

Visibly.

“I never said you were,” she retorted, and there was a snap to it.

Finally.

“I had friends,” he carried on. “They had parents. And absolutely, I worked my ass off to try to earn her love, then try to make her version of love stop and shift to one that didn’t hurt. I did the same to try to figure out the son my father needed so I could be that so he wouldn’t go away. But I saw how my friends were. How their parents were. I realized eventually that what I had was not that. Even if I didn’t understand it wasn’t healthy, I did understand it wasn’t normal and I came to understand it wasn’t about me. Obviously, with what happened with us, it dug deeper than I thought. But theoretically, I got it.”

“Right.”

“So I’m not fucking fragile. I get it. I got it a long time ago.”

“Right.”

That was not convincing.

He understood why.

“The way I blew us up was not conscious, Wyn,” he bit out. “If I knew what I was doing, I never would have fucking done it.”

“So you’re over it…but you’re not over it?”

“You never get over it.”

“Remy, you’ve got to understand I’m not in a place where I’ll ever understand,” she said carefully.

He loved that for her.

But they had to get past this.

“Do you know the man you married?” he asked.

“No.”

Okay.

Yeah.

Nope.

Not pissed anymore.

Furious.

“Are you shitting me?” he asked.

That was when she stood because that was when she lost it.

“Remy! I just found out you were significantly abused in every manner that could be three days ago. And I’ve been with you a quarter of a century.”

“Yes, and it was my choice not to tell you,” he replied.

“It was mine to have.”

Was she serious?

He shook his head. “Oh no it was not, baby.”

She asked his question. “Are you serious?”

“It’s mine to give, and only mine to give. And I have to say, I’m not feeling it I was forced to give it. Especially right now.”

“Forced?” she whispered.

“That’s not on you,” he assured. “That’s on Mom.”

“You cannot know that you’re not making a lick of sense, but trust me, you are not making a lick of sense.”

With strained patience, he explained, “If her shit didn’t cause me to do something I shouldn’t have, and I didn’t find out the woman was dying in the middle of reuniting with you, you never would have known.”

“I never would have known,” she breathed.

Again, wounded.

“Wyn, I told you I hated that I had to tell you when I was telling you.”

“Two,” she bit off.

“What?” he asked.

“Two. I slept with two men after you.”

Remy stood completely still.

“Is that not yours to know, Remy?” she asked. “It’s mine, I didn’t really want it, but it’s mine. I also didn’t want to tell you. However, you wanted to know, so I told you. Is that the same thing?”

“Right now, you’re throwing your fucks in my face?” he asked with deceptive quiet.

“The fact I had those fucks is not on you, honey, they’re on your mom,” she returned.

Christ, he hated it when they were arguing, and she was right.

“She ended my marriage,” Wyn continued. “She took you away from me. And you don’t think I have the right to know why?”

“I told you,” he reminded her.

“But you didn’t want to.”

“It hurts you!” he thundered. “Jesus, Wyn, how are you not getting this?”

“You’re not fragile, Remy. I’m not either!” she shouted that last.

“I know!” he bellowed.

“Then stop behaving like I am!” she shrieked. “I am not her!”

“I know that too!” he shouted.

“Then don’t act insulted when I say I don’t know you, Remy. For God’s sake, I just found out you don’t like to cuddle.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

He looked to the ceiling.

“What now?” she snapped.

He looked to her. “I like to cuddle, Wyn. I love being close to you. But think about it.”

“Is this another quiz?” she hissed.

Right, it sucked, but that was valid.

“When did we do that and it didn’t end up with us going at each other?” he asked, but not to make her answer, because he immediately told her. “When your dad died, and two years later, when your mom followed him.”

“You adored them.”

“Yes, I did. But not near as much as you.”

Light dawned, he watched it.

“You were comforting me?” she asked, like she couldn’t believe it.

“Baby, your parents died. Outside bed and outside anything to do with our kids, what’s your favorite thing that I do?”

Her gaze went to the piano and then back to him.