IT'S NOT GENTLE

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I can't do this anymore.

Can't sit across from Ocean at dinner pretending I don't want to reach across the table and touch him. Can't make polite conversation when all I want to do is tell him how I feel. Can't keep living in this house, loving him, while he sees me as nothing more than a responsibility.

It's killing me.

Tonight is worse than usual. Ocean is wearing a dark sweater that makes his gray eyes stand out. His hair is slightly messy, like he's been running his hands through it. He's tired—I can see it in the lines around his eyes—but he's still here. Having dinner with me. Like he always does.

"You're quiet tonight," he says.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

You. Always you. Every minute of every day is about you.

"Nothing important."

He doesn't believe me. I can tell by the way he's looking at me. Like he's trying to read my mind.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. The tension is thick enough to choke on.

Our hands both reach for the wine bottle at the same