style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I went to school here, too,’ she said, a light blush covering her cheeks.
He wondered why telling him that would embarrass her. He frowned. ‘Why didn’t we see each other?’
‘You would have been four years ahead of me, so we would have only seen each other if I was there in your last year.’ She glanced over at him. ‘I wasn’t.’
‘So you came after I had already matriculated.’ The timeline had already formed in his head.
‘Yeah, and only stayed for a year.’
‘And then what?’
‘I got moved to another family and another school.’
Her words left him...disconcerted. Perhaps it was because of the reminder of her childhood. Or perhaps it was because she had never spoken about her schooling before. It highlighted another crack in the relationship they’d had before breaking up. Shouldn’t he have known this about her, his wife?
‘Why didn’t I know this?’
She shrugged, though the gesture was made with stiff shoulders, and the relaxation Jordan had felt only a few moments ago slipped away.
‘There were a lot of things we didn’t talk about, Jordan,’ she said.
Exactly what he’d realised over the past few days, he thought. He took out his wallet before Mila could pay when they got to the front of the line, and turned to her as they waited for their tickets.
‘It seems a bit strange that we didn’t talk about it, doesn’t it...?’
He trailed off when he saw that her face had lost its colour. And then he realised why. Because the school was at a lower level, there was a long staircase that led down to another sports field. It was steep, even for him, and he felt her shake even before he saw it.
‘I can’t do this,’ she said, and turned away, her eyes wide and frightened.
Jordan felt the punch to his stomach even as steel lined it. ‘You don’t have a choice,’ he said firmly, and grabbed her hand, leading her to the stairs slowly.
Every step she took—every uncertain, painful step—sliced at his heart, but he knew he had to do this for her. He knew that if he could redeem himself in any way for the decisions he’d made since the day she’d fallen down the stairs, it would be by giving her back her freedom. And he knew her well enough to know that the only way to do that was through tough love.
‘Jordan, please...’ she whispered, her hand white on the railing. She had managed one step down the stairs, but had then frozen.
‘Mila, look at me.’ He waited as she did so, letting those behind him pass as he stood with Mila. ‘You have to do this. The event depends on it. The vineyard depends on it. For my father.’
It was a low blow and he knew it, and he saw the responding flash of red in her eyes. But the look quickly fizzled out as he took her hand again, and was replaced by a combination of fear and...trust? he thought, and felt that punch in his gut again.
He couldn’t ponder why that look had that effect on him now, though, and instead focused on taking another step down, waiting for her to join him. After taking a breath, she did. He saw the temptation in her eyes to freeze again, and decided that distracting her would soften the tough-love approach.
‘Do you think it’s because we did everything so fast that we didn’t talk about our pasts?’ he asked her, and patted himself on the back when he saw confusion in her eyes at his change of topic.
‘That was a part of it.’ Her voice was shaky, but she had taken the next step with his encouragement. ‘But definitely not the biggest part.’
‘What do you mean?’
She rolled her eyes, and he thought vaguely that his attempt at distraction was working. Except that she was distracting him, too.
‘We told each other about the most important parts. You knew that I didn’t have any family, and that I grew up in foster care, and I knew that your mom had passed away from cancer.’
‘And we were just content with that...’ he said, more to himself than to her.
Ever since he had realised that there had been things in their relationship that were broken even before the accident, the more he saw them. Yes, they’d known the basics—like the fact that her father had died before she was born and her mother had died shortly after her birth—but he’d had no idea how that had made her feel. Just as she hadn’t known how his mother’s death had affected him. And how much he blamed himself for it.
‘You were,’ she scoffed, and took another step down, still leaning on him. ‘I wanted to know everything about you. About your father, your mother, your childhood... Everything,’ she repeated. ‘But you didn’t seem willing to offer the information...’
She took a deep breath, but he knew it had little to do with the fact that she was going down the stairs.
‘And I never wanted to push.’
He frowned. ‘You didn’t want to ask me about my life?’
She was silent for a moment. ‘I didn’t want to push you to give me any information you didn’t want to.’
‘Why not?’
She looked at him, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. ‘Because I didn’t want to tell you things either.’
It was a strange conversation to be having while she was facing her fears, he thought briefly, but in that moment the only thing that had his attention was what she was saying.
‘What didn’t you want to tell me?’
He felt her hand tighten, felt her resistance as she tried to pull away from him, but then she stopped. Maybe because she’d realised that pulling away from him would mean she would have to deal with her fear alone. Or maybe because she had chosen to be cordial and her refusal to answer his question would be going against that. But still she didn’t say anything.
‘Why did it embarrass you to tell me that you went to school here?’ he asked, with a sudden urgency lighting up inside him that made it imperative for him to know. The same urgency that told him that whatever she didn’t want to tell him about her life was somehow tied to that.
‘It didn’t,’ she replied quickly. Too quickly for someone who had only a few minutes ago stiffened next to him.
‘Mila...’ It was a plea—one that came from that urgency—and it seemed to make a dent in that defensiveness she’d always had about her past. One he was beginning to realise he had, too.
She let out a huff. ‘I just didn’t want you to think about my crappy unstable childhood when you’d had the complete opposite.’
‘That embarrassed you?’ he asked incredulously, and a wave of shame washed through him. Had he said something to her that had made her feel embarrassed about her childhood? Did she really think his had been so wonderful?
‘Yes, it did,’ she said
