Page 56 of Forgotten Romance

“Think I was.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have let Luke keep buying them for you. I keep that thought to myself. On the off chance Mack was too drunk to remember, I don’t want to be the one reminding him about his new boyfriend. “Guess you’re getting too old to keep going out.”

“Fuck you. You’re older than I am.”

“But I wasn’t the one ten bottles deep and trying to sexy dance to Shakira.”

“I fucking what?” His head pops up, skin a shade of green, deep circles under both eyes, and the usual clear blue gaze murkier than I’ve ever seen it.

I chuckle and uselessly brush his crushed hair back into place. “I haven’t seen you move like that since our wedding day.”

He lights up at the reminder, and we have a whole few seconds where everything feels right in the world.

Then he gets a text.

Mack jolts at the loud beep, and I scoop up his phone to pass over—knowing I shouldn’t but not able to stop myself from checking the screen.

Luke.

He unwraps himself from me, and I throw my legs over the side of the bed.

“Right. I’ll get breakfast started.”

I stalk out of the room before he can read the message because I don’t need to witness that. It’s obvious, though, that Mack and I need to talk. About Luke, definitely. There needs to be some ground rules where he’s concerned, but also about work.

And us.

Last night, I’d been ready to say fuck it and walk away from work for good, but I still need to find something else first, so there’s no point in talking to him about my decision unless I’m sure it can go ahead. I know Mack, and I know that even if I tell him not to get his hopes up, his hopes will immediately fly anyway. His endless optimism is one of the things I love most about him.

I’d gotten complacent about Luke though.

I should have known better than to assume that because I hadn’t seen him, and Mack hadn’t been out anywhere, that his threat was gone. No, he’s probably waiting in the wings until I leave again and he can swoop in.

Though he didn’t have any issues swooping last night.

He’s too young for Mack. He wouldn’t know the first thing about what my husband needs. But apparently, he’s going to try and come between us anyway, so this relaxed timeline I’d thought I had has been moved up.

Mack isn’t waiting around for me to get my shit together anymore.

I don’t blame him.

Well, childishly, I do. But I also know how misplaced that is.

And once I drop the bomb that I’ll be leaving again a week after Christmas, I can’t imagine Mack will be all that understanding.

Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t tell him about that yet either. What if he gets upset and runs off crying to Luke and they kiss and … and …

I throw the frying pan on the stove, torturing myself with the image of the two of them together.

If I don’t tell him about leaving now though, when the hell do I do it? Ruin Christmas and be all, “Surprise! My present is that I’m gone in a week!” Wait until after, when there are only a few days left? Wait until it’s time to pack my bags?

The shower upstairs comes on, and I know that I have to do it now. Especially while Kiera and Van are out.

Looking back, one of the biggest issues in our marriage was that neither of us wanted to jump into the hard conversations. He’d hold it all in until it burst out of him, and I’d let him yell. Giving reasons always felt like excuses, and those excuses might as well have been given to the wall for all the good they did.

We got together young, and communication is something that didn’t come easily to us.

Mack stumbles into the room, bundled up in an oversized hoodie and loose sweatpants. His hair is wet, and he’s got more stubble growing through than usual, but fucking hell. My gaze rakes over him, hungrily remembering everything he keeps hidden under those clothes.

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