Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
9
ELLE
For the entire drive to the house, I give myself a pep talk. If Ben’s home, I’ll go in under the guise that I need clothes for the upcoming tour. It’s a valid excuse as most of my stuff is still there, but one he’d easily see through. The last vacation we took, I forgot to pack a bunch of essentials and went shopping when we arrived at our destination. He knows I’ll do it again if it means avoiding confrontation.
I hate confrontation. Mostly, I hate fighting with him about our breakup. But we need to talk. We need to discuss our future. If we’re done, we need to make it official.
As soon as I pull up to the house, I notice a truck in the driveway. Ben has company. This shouldn’t surprise me, and in any other circumstance, I’d use the fact he has company to avoid the conversation we need to have and drive away. But, according to Quinn, I need to see Ben. If I go inside and find another woman . . . no, I can’t think like that. He wouldn’t bring someone here. Would he?
My mind swirls with scenarios as I make my way to the front door. It could be the housekeeper, although I canceled the service weeks ago. Maybe it’s a friend from work, although Ben’s never brought any of his former colleagues to our place before. It could be his brother, but again, inviting Brad over isn’t something Ben does. He’s always kept our lives private from his family.
I open the door and see clutter in the entryway. Work boots, trash bags, and a couple pizza boxes. I shake my head, wondering what in the hell Ben’s up to. Those boots are definitely not his and my early guess about Brad being here is right when I hear him yell at the television. If Brad’s here, it means they’ve been drinking and probably on a weekend-long bender.
As I enter the living room, two sets of eyes meet mine. Not only is Brad sitting on my brand-new leather sofa, in his freaking underwear, but their mother is eating nachos and wiping her hands on the armrest. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something incredibly insulting and remind myself that Ben and I are not together, and while this is a fact, we haven’t made any decisions on what we’re going to do with the house. My hands clench into fists and my resolve is about to shatter with each step I take. The beautiful marble floor has a layer of dirty clothes on it, and when I look toward the kitchen, I can see dishes piled on top of the counters.
“Give me the strength,” I mutter to myself.
“Say something, sweetie?”
I smile at Brenda and fight the urge to tell her she has queso in the corner of her mouth. “No, I’m just going to go find Ben.” I hustle down the hall and into his office. By the time I reach him, I’m so angry that I want to scream. I slam the door, but he’s wearing headphones and can’t hear. Instead of calling his name, I pull them off his head to get his attention.
His expression morphs from anger, to recognition, and then finally emptiness. He has truly given up on us and that breaks my heart. I point toward the door and shake my head. There are so many words on the tip of my tongue, but nothing seems to want to come out.
“What in the actual fuck, Ben?” I say through clenched teeth. “Our fucking house is a pigsty.”
“I know.”
“Excuse me? You know? And you’re not doing anything about it?”
Ben takes his headphones from my hand and sets them down onto his desk. “What are you doing here?”
“Excuse me?”
He frowns. “I don’t need a reminder that you paid for this place. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten.”
“I’m not reminding you of anything, Ben. I came home . . .” Calling this place home doesn’t feel right, not in the state our relationship is in right now. “What are Brenda and Brad doing here? And why in the hell is your mom eating on my couch? And why isn’t your brother wearing pants?”
“What does it matter?” he asks, in a nonchalant tone making me wonder if he cares about anything anymore.
“Uh, it matters because this is still my house too. Because we need to decide what we’re going to do with it and if your family is going to ruin the marble floors, someone is going to have to pay for it, and we both know they don’t have the money.”
“Stop yelling,” he says, even though I don’t believe I raised my voice at all.
“Stop yelling? Are you serious right now? You’re letting them ruin our stuff! We worked hard for our things.”