Page 164 of Overcast

We were never together.

That’s what I keep on repeat over and over in my head to be able to function the next day. His kissing another woman—no matter who or what she did—isn’t something that I have any right to get mad about.

We’re not together.

We’re not a couple.

He’s not my man.

And I don’t want to be in his world.

It all sounds simple and straightforward, but it doesn’t settle to where I accept and stop thinking about it. What I am good at doing is ignoring and shoving it into a dark place in my head because I’m used to being disappointed.

Marty is no better than any of my dad’s friends—he’s worse. He made me feel special just to show me that I wasn’t. And of all the women he chose to be a male whore with, if he believed I might forgive and forget, he better not hold his breath.

Emmy has been trying to keep me occupied, but I know it’s Marty’s doing that she’s here still.

Last night on what she called our “girl’s night,” she brought me several boxes of hair dye, dared me to take hold of my life and make a change.

And with that in mind, I went for the blue because I remember Marty whispering in my ear how much he loved the color of my eyes. However, that was in the spur of the moment of us having sex, and why wouldn’t he fill my head up with compliments.

Because he’s a man with no attachments, that’s why. And why I decided to listen to them is a whole other muddle of screwed up.

He doesn’t owe me a thing besides my freedom. I never stuck to my guns and kept my distance until the time was ready.

This is half my fault.

Half my issue because I’m an idiot, and I started to fall for the man who made my life a living hell but then turned it around. I made an assumption that I was something different to him. He just said what he needed to make me feel good.

Getting away from the house, I’ve been walking around the shoreline of the lake and taking in Reagan’s landscaping. I found a small trail through the woods that opens up into a narrow cove-like space with toys that I believe are Huck’s. He has a plastic little castle with a homemade flag sticking out from one of the towers, a picnic table, and a bunch of dump trucks and cranes. The trees overhead keep out most of the sun, but streams fall to the ground, making it look almost magical and, above all, peaceful.

“I’m not trying to sneak up on you, it’s Mills,” states a voice behind me. I twirl around to see him approach with his friendly smile and a bottle of water. “It’s hot out here, woman.”

“And the house is less than a football field away.”

He squints at me. “You know there are animals out here, right?”

“As long as they maul me quickly, I’m good with it.”

“Oh, hell no,” Mills chides with a shake of his head. “Are you becoming a Debbie Downer?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?” He hands me the water bottle, and I gladly take it. “What did the douchebag do now?”

“Why does something have to be wrong? And why are you assuming that it’s him?” I twist the cap and take a hefty swig, watching Mills watch me.

“Because you look like someone killed your puppy.” I hit him with an exasperated look. “Bishop told me what happened.”

My gut knots at the mention of it—what happened.

This is so stupid.

“Then why are you asking me? And you guys gossip more than girls.”

“Because I thought you’d tell me,” he replies off a shrug, almost looking disappointed that I didn’t. “And Bishop loves to watch people suffer, he’s a sick fuck.” He looms closer, studying me for something. “You know...there’s a way to get payback.”

I quirk a brow at the mischievous expression that just shaded over his features. “Do you have a one-way ticket out of here?”

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