“To prove a point.” He snarls and turns away coldly.

“What point?” I almost cry at him. I’m so overwrought with emotion. So confused. He scrubs his hands through his ruffled hair and blows out; for a moment I think he’s going to jump out of the car again and walk off, but he just sits and sighs, grasping the wheel, pulling himself to sit properly.

“What does it matter?” his voice is deflated, and he avoids looking at me. His aggression evaporating.

So? What? He’s decided, screw it, we’re not talking anymore? How can he assault me with a kiss then just say forget it? What the hell?

I’m angry, I’m really goddamn, seething, angry.

How dare he!

“Fuck you!” It’s out of my mouth before I even really contemplate screaming at my boss, and I’m out of the car too. I’m raging. My eyes are stinging and blurry. I hate that he makes me fall apart like this. He knows how to rip my head open and I hate him for it, hate the way he strips me of the control I’ve built up over the years.

He pulls me into him and spins me around as he’s fast out after me. I try to fight, but he envelopes me and buries his face in my hair, holding me in a vice like grip so that I can’t struggle free. A bear hug to stop me from escaping.

“I’m sorry … Emma, stop … Emma. I’m sorry.” His voice is raw and strained. I’m fighting but losing as he knows how to hold me so that I can’t move, my body wrapped in his, almost suffocating me. He hugs me in tighter and I slump, anger dissipating when pinned to him this way. In so much emotional pain. He’s breathing into my hair, the warmth of it on my scalp; overwhelmed, tears running down my cheek as he slowly breaks me.

“I don’t want to fight with you.” His voice is somber now, close to my ear, his crazy mood taking a new direction again. I relax into his hold, no longer struggling, unable to hate him when he’s this way with me, sounding this sorry and I am this upset.

“I don’t want to fight either.” I swallow a sob. Slumping into him in a bid to let him heal my heart.

“Maybe we should go back to the boat?” he sounds tired. I don’t know how to navigate this version of Jake; more moods than I’m used to. It’s exhausting but I put it down to the scene with Hunter and the aftereffects of too much alcohol, lack of sleep, stress. This isn’t him.

“Maybe,” I whisper; at least there I can go to my room and get some distance, some perspective. Let him alone to get a grip of his roller coaster mood swings.

“No,” he snaps, surprising me again with a U-turn in attitude. The way he says it causes me to bristle and look up. Mood shift suddenly … again?

is going on

pulls away and stalks back to the car, stops at the hood, leaning down to tense his arms against it, broody and aggressive in his stance.

this, Emma.” He snaps, his gaze steady on the hood of the low sleek car. For a moment, I think he may even hit

what?” I’m beyond confused. I think Jake has been invaded by a body snatcher. He’s all over the place and I just can’t

I don’t actually know what else

and not in a good way.” He snorts, facing the car again. His body emanating all kinds of erratic, manic,

unsure, like I’m walking on eggshells with him right now, yet he’s accusing me of driving him

Well, it’s goddamn mutual.

again and his face

He carries on, although he’s lost all

Likewise.

I murmur sarcastically. Rolling my eyes at his back while trying to simmer

can do

his shoulder and I glance down to twiddle my fingers evasively. He’s sighing again, I can hear

again; a new tactic or a

and my hand’s pause. Nerves fluttering

drily, the urge to clamp down and stop this direction of

pieces, Emma, mostly from getting you drunk.” He

Jesus!

going?” I plead; I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to have

so obsessed over this? Freaking Jekyll Jake and his neck

makes me want to cry, so I look away, crossing my arms around my body protectively. His expression

won’t make me cry again. My heart aching with everything he is trying

this what he’s after? Tears,

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