As soon as we’re inside, she takes off her shoes and stomps up the steps like we’re done.
The hell.
She makes it halfway before I catch up to her, grabbing her arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I demand, eye to eye since she’s on the step above.
“To bed,” she says. “You’re being ridiculous about this, and, apparently, you need space to calm down.”
“Oh, I need space to calm down?” The anger I’ve been checking busts the seams. “Is that what you think I need?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“No, Bristol, what I need is for you to stop hurling yourself in front of Mack trucks every time you think you’re helping me.”
“I was helping.” She throws her free arm out to the side. “If you had hit Ford after all the things you said tonight, it would have undermined everything. That’s exactly what he wanted.”
“So you slapped a powerful, evil, dangerous man like Clem Ford? That’s your answer?”
“You have a better one?”
“Anything that doesn’t involve you making an enemy of someone like him is a better solution, but that seems to be your forte—making dumb decisions to save me.”
“Don’t you dare bring up Parker,” she says with heat.
“The same recklessness you demonstrated with Parker,” I reply through gritted teeth, “is the recklessness you showed tonight when you slapped fucking Clem Ford.”
“Don’t ask me not to protect you,” she says, her body taut with frustration and anger.
“You don’t protect me, dammit!” My voice shatters the quiet of our home, splintering any chance for peace. “I protect you.”
“That is the biggest load of chauvinist crap I’ve ever heard,” she yells back, the veins in her neck straining with the force of her anger.
“This isn’t about chauvinism or you being my equal, or whatever feminist shit you want to trot out. Call me a caveman, I don’t give a fuck. You will never put yourself in that position again.”
“Yes. I. Will.” The delicate line of her jaw juts out. “If the situation calls for it.”
“The situation won’t call for it.”
“You have a target on your back, Grip.” The concern in her eyes overpowers the anger. “Don’t you see that?”
“You think I don’t know?” I blow out an exasperated breath. “The more I do this, the deeper I get into these issues, the bigger the target gets. I can live with it, but what I cannot live with is you jumping in front of me every time you think I’m in trouble.”
“I won’t even think twice.”
“Bristol, no.” I clutch my head in both hands and look up at the ceiling. “You don’t get it.”
“No, you don’t get it.” Some of the anger melts from her face. “You’re right, this isn’t about me being a feminist. It’s about me being your wife, your partner. I’m not some damsel in distress, Grip. I don’t need rescuing, but if I ever do, I know you’d do whatever was necessary to protect me. All I’m asking is that you expect the same from me, and not lose your shit when I do it.”
I was right. This won’t be resolved ton
ight. I’m always going to want to protect her, and she’s always going to risk everything to protect me.
“You protect me all the time,” she adds softly. “You saved me.”
“When?” I scoff. “When have you ever sat your ass down long enough for me to save you?”
“When I was in the dark, unable to shower or eat or get out of bed. . . unable to imagine living again. That’s when you saved me.”