Page 147 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

Our gazes lock, my head slightly shaking as I attempt to initiate a step away from him.

“Don’t be like that, Nick. Take it.”

“I don’t want it!” I smack the envelope away as he extends his hand toward me.

“Then work that shit out with her, but don’t make her hire someone to chase your ass down because that won’t win you any brownie points.” He extends his hand into the space between us once more.

I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat to no avail. It remains lodged, almost as though it’s blocking my airway, preventing me from taking a full breath. With a shaky hand, I grasp the envelope, accepting it as Ace releases.

“Daniel Conners…” he begins, “you’ve been served.”

It would hurt less if he slit my fucking throat. Attempting to steady my palms, I open the top portion of the envelope, sliding out the papers from within. My heart drops as I read the first few lines.

Daphne Guinevere Burke, Plaintiff

-against-

Daniel Nicholas Conners, Defendant

ACTION FOR DIVORCE

“I’m sorry, man. I know you don’t want this.”

“Does she?” I ask him in earnest. “Does she want this?”

He expels a breath, gripping hold of the back of his neck as he looks upon me with pity. “I don’t know, Nick. I wasn’t here for all the shit that led to this, but I caught the highlights and, from what I gather, she doesn’t trust you, man. And though I’m not an expert on marriage, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work without trust.”

“I can’t lose her.” My voice comes out low, my hands crumpling the papers as I look up at him.

“You’re not getting divorced tomorrow, Nick. You’ve got time to show her. All I ask as her friend? Don’t drag this out for years. You got more money than God, dude. We both know you could make this hard for her. Please don’t. Use the time you have to try and show her otherwise, but if at the end she still wants this? Let her go. That’s all I ask.”

I force a nod, somewhat unsure if that’s a promise I’m actually capable of keeping.

Ace’s hand claps me on the shoulder, offering a consoling squeeze. “I’m gonna take off. I’ll see you at Christmas, though?”

“Yeah,” I nod, blinking back the sting of tears. “It’s at my sister and Mav’s place.”

“Sounds good. Stay strong. Call me if you need me.” Ace turns, jogging down my front steps and off toward his truck.

Slowly shutting the front door, I turn to collapse back into it, sliding down the dark wood until my ass hits the floor. My head spins as I quickly review the timeline in my mind. If I keep my promise to Ace and don’t run hardcore interference, the average contested divorce in New York State takes anywhere from six months to a year. Which means that’s my D-Day. Six months.

Six months to show her I’m serious about this. Six months to try and prevent my entire world from collapsing. Six months to secure the rest of my life.

Get your head on straight, Conners. Don’t fuck this up.

EPILOGUE

6 ½ YEARS LATER

MAV

“Bentley! Watch the inside curve! He’s gaining on you!” I shout at my son as he whips past me on his bike on the makeshift track in our backyard behind the Cathedral. Nicky may be taking it easy on him, obviously allowing him to remain in the lead, but for a four-year-old, he’s fucking savage. J and Nicky had Bent on these things from the time he could walk, and the kid took to the sport like a fish to water.

Nicky flies past me next, flipping me off as he passes.

“Dada,” my nephew, Maddox, coos as he points to Nick.

“Yeah, that’s Dada.” I smirk, shifting him in my arms so he can get a better look. “Dada the douche.”

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