Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“I don’t want to cause any trouble. Not on his big night.”
“I love my mum. Ben loves her, too. And if she loves us then she’ll be able to bite her tongue for a few hours. You cheated on me, not my mother, and if I’m finding a way to work through that then she can, too.”
Will nods, looks away, but accepts the rather backhanded comment which I seemingly couldn’t keep to myself.
“Have you spoken to Rick about the car?” I ask, and it’s another item on the list of things weighing on my shoulders since our split. We’d always said we would buy Ben his first car for his eighteenth. We’d have done it for Lucy, only she’s yet to show an interest in driving lessons. It’s nothing fancy, but safe and reasonable to insure. However, we never imagined being in this situation, one where Will was earning minimum wage and our income was, for the first time, truly separate.
“Yeah. He’s bringing it to the party. Says he won’t drink so he can bring it back here afterwards.”
“That’s good of him.”
Will nods.
“And…you’re sure—”
“I can afford it, Becs. The kids are my priority. Besides, Rick found us a great deal. Ben’s gonna love it.”
Sipping my wine, I leave it at that.
“You look tired,” I say after a round of silence, something I would’ve mentioned earlier but didn’t want to worry the kids. “Your skin is pale.”
“Really? I’m okay.” He smiles, sips his tea. “Probably just work. I’ve been putting in some overtime.”
We both know that’s not it, but as I drink my wine, I mentally tell myself to leave it at that, to not interfere, that it’s none of my business anymore. Only, it’s too late for that. It didn’t work yesterday, and it won’t work now. I love this man. He’ll always be my business. “You’re worth so much better than that warehouse, Will.” Twelve-hour nights, picking orders and packing boxes. He’s trained for so long, worked too hard at his craft to end up there. “As for that flat you’re living in. Lucy said it’s a hovel.”
“It’s temporary,” he says. “Something else will come along soon enough.”
I hope so. “But it’s going okay, in the meantime? The job.”
He nods, shrugs a bit. “Sure. Pretty repetitive. Labour intensive. Working nights took some getting used to. But it’s all right, for what it is. It’s a pay cheque.”
The mood is different when we’re alone. Heavier. Discomforting. I know Will feels it, too. Although he’s been back on several occasions since making the peace with Lucy, this is the first time we’ve spent any real length of time together by ourselves since the morning I kicked him out of the house. I can’t help wondering if the kids being present has been a conscious effort on both of our parts, if we’ve been avoiding each other, avoiding this.
“And how’s everything, you know…else?”
“Else?” He knows what I’m asking, despite the puzzled look on his face.
Once again, I’m pushing against the voice in my head that’s been telling me to stay quiet, keep out of it. Mainly because I haven’t known who my mind wants me to keep quiet for, who it’s hoping to protect. But this isn’t protecting either of us. It’s silence that’s broken us in the first place.
“I’m asking about Laurence, Will,” I say, figuring I may as well come right out with it before I chicken out.
“Oh…” He says quietly, looking down and hiding his face behind his mug of tea. After a moment, he drinks some, lowers the mug, but doesn’t quite look at me. “Well, I, um, we haven’t seen each other. You know, since…” Redness creeps around his neck, slinks up to his cheeks. He coughs, as if that will disperse it. “He text me last night actually, tried to call. But I haven’t, I mean I’m not going to, anyway…”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Do you want to talk about it?” Even as I say it, I genuinely don’t know if I’m prepared for the answer. In my head, I could likely die happily never hearing Laurence Cole’s name again. But my heart? Well, my heart senses the pain William is in and aches to reach out and take some.
“With you?” he asks.
“Well, the cat’s over there, but I don’t think she’ll have any advice.”
“And…you will. You’ll have advice. On my relationship. With someone else.” His reply is slow and stunted, almost amusing when I think about what I’m offering.
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know, Will.” Sighing, I turn my glass on the table, focus on the wine sloshing up the sides. “I know you’re unhappy. I see it and, despite everything, I don’t want that.”
I catch his hand moving for mine in the corner of my eye. My breath hitches when our skin touches. “I’m here with my family, Becs. The family I’d convinced myself I would lose. I’m not unhappy, I’m grateful.”