Page 63 of Forgotten Romance

He squares his jaw determinedly. “It was more than that.”

“Now who’s talking complete bullshit?”

He whirls on me and crosses the kitchen to get in my face. “You think the divorce was easy for me? All I wanted was for you to choose us. I never actually thought you’d agree!”

I stare at him. One beat … two. I’m so stunned I forget to be angry. “Tell me you didn’t suggest getting a divorce on a whim?”

Mack’s face falls. “Ah … well, maybe.”

“You didn’t want to get divorced?”

He swallows. “I guess I didn’t know how deeply ruined our relationship was. I didn’t know you were that ready to go through with it.”

Two years. I’ve lost two whole years, countless memories, and piled up way too much angst, all because I called a bluff neither of us knew he was making. I love Mack, but dear fucking god, do I want to strangle him right now. “You said you couldn’t do this anymore!”

“I would do anything for you.” His eyes are reddening, like he’s holding back tears. “All you had to do was say no. All you had to do was show me that I’m the person you fell in love with. Instead, you agreed so fucking fast it’s like you’d been waiting to bring it up yourself.”

“I just wanted to make you happy instead of miserable all the damn time.”

“Well, congratulations. Because I’ve been miserable ever since you left.” He spins on his heel and leaves the room. A moment later, I hear him jogging up the stairs.

My heart is getting away from me, beating so fast in anger and regret and all the unspoken what-ifs that Mack left behind. While I’m drowning in the urge to pick up his empty glass and smash it, the indignation is struggling to hold on. Because he was right. Our marriage was at a breaking point, even if neither of us realized it. It’s hard not to feel like we divorced for absolutely no reason, but if the last two years have given me anything, it’s clarity.

We wouldn’t have been able to sustain what we had.

We can’t go back to that either.

Feeling like I’m on the edge of useless tears, I bypass the laundry to grab his pajamas I was warming up and climb the stairs. His bedroom door is closed, and I can’t make out any noise coming from inside.

Trying to smother down my simmering frustration that we can’t get our heads out of our asses, I tap lightly on the wood.

“What?”

Bracing myself, I push it open.

He’s sitting on the side of the bed, clearly having run his hands through his hair a billion times. Without words, I step forward and hold out his warmed clothes.

Mack’s mouth hangs open as he takes them. “I miss that, you know. When you’re not here.”

I shrug awkwardly. “You’re always cold.”

“Feeling colder than ever right now.” He sets the pajamas down beside him, then holds out his hand.

I take it eagerly, gut swooping at his warmth. At the familiarity.

He doesn’t stop pulling me closer until I’m standing between his legs. Then he sets his hands on my hips.

“What are you doing?”

Mack’s thumb slips under the bottom of my shirt and finds the soft skin above my hip. “You never used your profile?”

“Never.”

“Never dated?”

“Not even once.”

“That doesn’t mean you—have you ever, you know, seen anyone else?”

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