Page 41 of Pulled Away

I’m asking, but I already know the answer. It’s written all over his face. I just want it out there.

“Aspen,” he groans, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “Hadley doesn’t have feelings for me. Our divorce was a mutual decision. She’s been living in London for years.”

“She didn’t tell you she quit her job, and she’s moving back?”

He shakes his head. “She hasn’t. She would have if she did.”

Hadley is the one lying, either to me or Ryan, but once again, I’m the liar. It’s the feeling of helplessness, knowing that no matter what I say, he won’t believe me over her, that cements my decision for me.

“Okay,” I say, keeping my face blank in the face of the relief that flashes over his.

“Thank you,” he sighs, his shoulders lifting a fraction. “This is the last thing I need to do for her. When I get back, everything will return to normal.”

My smile is sad when I turn away. There won’t be a normal. Not for us.

I sigh and throw my pen down with so much force that it rolls off the table. Dropping my head into my hands, I massage my eyes with my palms. Unsurprisingly, I have a headache coming on. A night spent tossing and turning and stress will do that to you. Ryan’s still asleep as if nothing is wrong in his world, and I guess for him, nothing is. The way he snuggled up against my back told me he thinks he’s won. That I’m not choking on all the bullshit he’s been shoveling down my throat. That I’ll wave them off with a smile on my face.

Fuck it.

Fuck him.

Fuck her.

That’s why, when four rolled around, I decided that since sleep hates me, I could at least do something productive. So, I’m making a list, and since I’m not in the habit of lying to myself, I have to admit that the outlook is grim.

Everything boils down to money. Which I don’t have. I was lucky when I met Rose. She already had everything. All she needed was a roommate to share the rent with. Unfortunately, that means I don’t have anything. Just my clothes, a few sentimental items that are not practical at all, and my car. Oh, and the rescue. Which is a few miles out of town and doesn’t help me at all. The opposite in fact. It’s going to cost me money every month. Once again, money I don’t have.

Finding a place to rent on such short notice that fits my non-existent budget will be next to impossible. Putting down a deposit and the first month’s rent—completely impossible. Then there are all the things I’ll need. A bed, although I could make do with a blow-up mattress, bedding, at least one plate, knife, fork, cup, teaspoon, and, if I want to really spoil myself, a chair.

Money, money, money. An endless refrain beating relentlessly against my brain. But I don’t care. There is no way I can stay here. I’d rather be homeless, sleeping in my car than live here. They are leaving on Saturday, so I have a few days to make my plans, but shit, it’s hard if you don’t have many options.

The front door opens, and I close my eyes in frustration. It seems I just can’t catch a break.

Hold it together, Aspen. Just five more days, then you never have to see the bitch again, I promise myself.

I watch in silence as she walks into the kitchen, moving around while she makes herself her beloved chamomile tea. Like she owns the place. I guess in five days, she will. I’m guessing it won’t take her long to get Ryan in her bed once I’m gone. No, wait. He’s already been doing that during those long nights spent comforting her.

She’s welcome to him.

I take a sip of my coffee when she takes a seat at the kitchen table. It’s my fifth cup in a span of two hours, but hey, who’s counting?

“Tell me, besides Ryan, how many friends do you have that actually live in this town? Bailey? Hannah? I haven’t seen you reach out to any of them.”

She shrugs. “They’re not important. Ryan is.”

“So, how exactly do you plan to integrate yourself back into his life once you move back?”

“I won’t need to. I’ve always been integrated into his life. Distance didn’t change that. Besides, that’s a moot point. We won’t be living here for long. Small towns like this are… backward,” she says with a little shudder. “After living in London with its vibrant nightlife, I could never live in a place like this again.”

“Nice,” I say, nodding, like we’re chatting about the weather, and not the fact that she’s stealing my boyfriend. Well, stole, actually. Past tense. I want to massage my chest to ease the pain that intensifies with each heartbeat but keep my fingers clenched around my mug. “I’m surprised you’re being so honest.”

Before the funeral, she hardly spoke to me. Besides the odd comment here and there, she was tight-lipped. Playing her part as the victim perfectly, I now realize.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She leans forward, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Even if you blab to Ryan, he won’t believe you. Hasn’t he shown you he’ll always take my side?”

I fist my hands under the table in an effort to not punch the smug, superior smile off her face.

Five more days, Aspen.

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