Page 58 of Before We Were Us

“You sure about this?” Connor asks me from behind but I don’t look back. Only nodding I swipe my badge and the door clicks just before it pops open and I step inside.

Immediately she lifts her head and her eyes widen in surprise when she sees it's me that’s entered the room. Her lower lip trembles and her eyes fill with tears.

“Don’t,” I say as I close the door behind me and walk to the opposite side of the table. “You are not the victim here, Chrissy. You did what you did, no one forced you.”

“I didn’t drag a man out of my living room and beat him up on the front lawn.” She starts to flare up at me. “I didn’t rush out of my house and put myself into a situation that wasn’t my concern and take it upon myself to join the fight.”

“You were the one that brought home a man you barely know and you are the one that decided to snort fucking coke and go out of your mind. And so we’re clear, it’s my fucking living room.”

She glares at me and I glare right back. I did intend to walk in here and hear her out. But seeing her, immediately playing like she’s been falsely charged, that shit hits me. I’m reminded in a rush of the hell she’s caused me.

“Sweetheart, you looking at me like that isn’t helping you any. You should know that I’m your best-case scenario. Apparently your attorney dropped you more than a month ago, your friends have written you off, and from the recent fallout I assume your fuck toys have their own problems. So if you want to keep this,” I motion between us with my finger, “attitude up, I can walk away too.”

She holds my stare, and I can tell she wants to come back at me. She has always gotten that same look when she’s ready to fight. Her eyes narrow, her lips purse, and she fists her hands.

“I want my house,” I start, giving her a few seconds to respond. She remains quiet but her expression hardens. “You can have all the shit, the furniture, the dishes, down to the last rug, because I don’t want any of that shit.” She picked it all out anyway. “We’ll find you a place, one that you can afford on your own.”

“I ca—” she stops herself when I arch a brow.

“It's time you start working again, find a way to support yourself. I’ll set you up for the first three months, I’ll give you a substantial cushion to cover the bills for those months. But Chrissy, it's time to end this shit.”

“And what do I get out of this?” Besides me supporting her for three fucking months and giving her thousands of dollars’ worth of contents? “You get these charges you have on your record wiped clean. You get probation and you go to fucking rehab.”

“I don’t need rehab.”

“It’s part of the deal.” No negotiation.

Again she stares at me and when her eyes cloud with tears she quickly looks away. “If I let go of the house it’s like letting go of you.”

“You don’t have me.” She looks up and a tear rolls along her cheek. “You haven’t had me for a long time. You and I, we were over before we started, we never should have gotten married.”

“Don’t say that.” She reaches out to touch my hand and I pull back. “I still love you,” she adds. “We could try again.”

I know if I continue this, it will never end.

“I’ll give you some time to think about what I've offered. But I wouldn’t take too long, the neighbor you assaulted fully intends to file charges.”

With that I stand and walk out of the room, finding Connor leaning against the opposite wall.

“I didn’t hear screaming,” he nods, “so there must not have been any bloodshed.”

“It’s up to her now.”

thirty-six

. . .

Brynnlee

“I’ll drink yours,” I say as I take the shot from in front of Ciara and tip it back. “However I do have to say being knocked up for your bachelorette party is lame.” I roll my eyes scoffing playfully at her.

“Hey a night out is a night out,” she states. “And for the time being I can say I’m feeling human. It is a good night. Besides tomorrow I’ll be the one that can function and you four,” she points around the table at the rest of us. Marco, Taylor, her cousin Whitney and I all look at her. “Will all be nursing hangovers and praying for mercy while you each heave over and over.”

“I never puke,” Taylor says and I laugh, snorting accidently. Which of course redirects everyone's attention back to me.

“New Year’s Day, St. Patty’s Day last year, and Marco’s birthday.” I check them all off by lifting my fingers.

“Don’t forget the trip to Vegas when she tried to outdrink the guy with purple spikes for hair.” Marco looks at Taylor daring her to argue.

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