He notices my reaction, but I’m sure he misunderstands the root of it all. I’m no longer nervous about meeting her. I’m terrified of her.
“Ma, this is Nova.” Zeke puts his arm around my shoulder protectively, and it springs me back to myself.
I’m not the girl who cowers in front of people. I don’t want to be that girl. This situation has me so spooked, and I’ve completely lost myself.
I’m confident. I can handle going live in front of millions and walking red carpets with my chin high. I’ve stood down the entire board at Mom’s label without so much as a tremble.
One stupid comment, one regrettable night, and one deranged person out for revenge, and I’m suddenly a weak, spineless woman who wants to hide behind a man.
The force of my realization is electric under my skin.
This woman, frail and reclusive, reminds me of myself.
I shake Zeke’s arm from my shoulder, and he seems shocked at my sudden rejection of his comfort. He is not my protector. He is simply the father of the baby I’m going to have. That’s it.
“Hi, Mrs. Stryker,” I say, putting on my best smile regardless of her distrusting gaze. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I reach out my hand to shake hers, and she watches it. Zeke looks at me like I’m about to disarm a bomb, his chest completely still and his mouth clamped shut.
She looks at my hand, then walks right past me toward the kitchen. I’m stunned at her outright dismissal. I look to Zeke, but he’s morphed so abruptly into a red-cheeked rage that I am no longer thinking about her.
He steps forward, and I instinctively block his path, both hands on his chest.
“Hey,” I say until he looks at me. “Don’t. It’s fine. You warned me. It’s fine, Zeke.”
“It’s not fine,” he growls.
He steps around me, storming toward the kitchen. There’s a panic growing inside me, forcing me forward to scramble around him. Echoes of memories get louder in my mind, and one by one, they hit. My parents screaming at each other over my head, always talking about me, but never to me. Never asking me what I wanted.
I step in front of him, blocking his way again. “Please, don’t make this a big deal. Let’s just go, okay?”
“She can’t treat you like that,” he says, throwing his arms out.
“It’s fine,” I say, more bite to my voice, my shoulders tensing and squaring.
“You’re just going to let it go?” His voice is as high as his disbelieving eyebrows.
“I don’t care what she thinks of me.” It’s not true. I care what everyone thinks of me. Making sure Zeke doesn’t embarrass me is more important right now.
Don’t fight over me. That’s all I care about. I always get in the middle of things. I’m always the one standing in the room with no voice as other people decide how I feel.
Zeke tries to get around me, and I snap.
“You’re not protecting me,” I spit, and he whips his head in my direction, shock on his features. “You’re trying to prove something. It’s selfish.”
“What?” he takes a step back like I’ve pushed him. “What am I trying to prove?”
“That you’re supportive,” I say, but my skin blazes with embarrassment at the words.
How stupid is it to get mad at him for this? I’m not explaining myself well. My mind glitches as his confusion deepens.
His mouth opens for a moment, a smile cracks across his lips, and his big, disbelieving laugh fills the hall. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?”
I try to hold onto my anger, but around him, I can’t. His edges are all so smooth and polished that everything just slides right off him. I wonder if he’s ever offended by anything. Jealousy digs at me because I’m more like microfiber. I absorb every goddamn thing that touches me.
There’s no way I’m holding my smile back, so I don’t. I let it flicker to life and shake my head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, being supportive and helping me isn’t about jumping in front of me and deciding what I need or want. Just ask me and trust me. I don’t want to make a big deal of this.”
My voice starts light but ends up slightly pleading. I grab the front of his sweater and shake him lightly, realizing that I’ve taken every possible opportunity to touch him today.