Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
The storm overhead beat down on the car in slashes of rain, and I was grateful for the cover. Not just with how it prevented Charlotte from seeing us—because I was sure she was watching through the front window—but how secluded it felt.
For a brief time, it had created a bubble where my negative thoughts had a harder time penetrating my mind. But my devil’s advocate spun up and told me all the reasons why he’d lie and leave me for someone else.
That what we had might not last.
And it would be better to cut my losses now.
Save myself from more pain down the road.
He searched my face, trying to figure out why I hadn’t said anything, and his eyes widened in concern. “You’re looking at me like you think we’re doomed.”
I didn’t want to put it out in the universe, but the words came from me anyway. “Are we?” I whispered. “It’s only going to get harder when you blow up.”
Oh, he didn’t like hearing that. “So . . . what are you saying? You want to give up? Just because I made a dumb mistake and things might get hard?”
Did I want to give up?
My thoughts were a mess, and when I didn’t respond immediately, he withdrew like I’d slapped him. Surprise and hurt painted his expression, and the temperature in the car plummeted twenty degrees.
“You know what?” he snapped. “I’m tired and kind of hungover, so maybe you should go before I say something I don’t mean.”
“Look, I don’t know what I’m feeling. Everything with us happened so fast and it . . . scares me.”
“I got it.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, and it was as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “There’s an umbrella in the glove compartment if you want it.”
He’d all but told me to get the hell out of his car. It was even more clear when he started his engine.
I wasn’t one to overstay my welcome, so I shoved open the door and stepped out into the pouring rain. I’d never felt so lost as when I turned back to look at him.
He had to shout it over the storm. “She said you’d give up on me as soon as the going got tough. Like you always do.”
Was he talking about his mother? My mouth hung open as the cold rain pelted down on me, making me numb.
“Don’t prove her right, Erika.”
Then he put his Jeep in gear, stepped on the gas, and as the car took off, the force of it pulled the door from my hand and slammed it shut.
TWENTY-THREE
Erika
The rest of my afternoon was spent with my emotions ping-ponging wildly. It was impossible to get any work done. One moment it would be rage at what Jenna had said about me, then unease she might have been right.
She tried so hard to shield Troy from failure, but wasn’t that exactly what I was doing to my relationship with him?
I was able to get a grip when I focused on a goal. Clark’s address was listed somewhere in our divorce papers, and once I found it, I drove over to his townhome after work. Thankfully, I spotted his car in the shared parking spaces, so it was likely he was home.
Anxiety twisted inside me as I pressed the doorbell. He’d become such a stranger to me over the last year. Would I recognize the man who opened the door? I sucked in a deep, preparing breath as it swung open.
Clark was still in his work clothes, a collared button-down shirt and slacks. His eyes went enormously wide as he peered at me. “Erika?”
It was rude, but since he’d come onto my property without an invitation, I did the same. It forced him to back up into his living room when I barged in. “We need to talk.”
His shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the floor. “This is about me showing up at your house?”
“You’re goddamn right, it—”
Something was off about his place. I’d been distracted when I’d charged in, but now as I glanced around, I realized how sparse it was. He’d taken some of the furniture in the divorce to populate his new place, but it didn’t look like he’d bought anything new. There was the brown couch from our bonus room sitting in his living room, but no end tables or coffee table in front of it. Just a couch and TV stand, plus a stack of boxes against the back wall.
“Are you moving?” I asked.
“No.”
“What’s with the boxes?”
He hesitated. “I haven’t gotten around to unpacking them all.”
Awareness dawned on me. We’d separated a year ago, and he’d purchased this townhome almost immediately. “You live like this?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I do.”
It reminded me of his apartment in college, back when he’d been a bachelor. I’d forgotten he’d been kind of hopeless until I came along. His mother had done everything for him, even his laundry on the weekends. I’d had to teach him how to cook and clean, but I must have missed how to decorate.