Page 38 of Broken Halo

“I’ve gotta go.” I hit my gas.

“Wait!” she rushes. “What are you—”

I disconnect the call.

When she calls back, I send it straight to voicemail. This repeats four times before texts from Jen start to roll in. I don’t look at any of them.

Because I have no fucking clue what I’m going to do and to utter that out loud makes it too much of a reality.

11

The Good, the Bad, the Beautiful

Actions speak louder than words. Shut your mouth and do the right thing.

Ellie

Trig: Giving you the heads up, angel. I’m on my way over.

What?

Shit. I just put Griffin to bed and I can’t very well rouse him now without being a shit mom. I’ve been dragging him to the studio with me every day as it is and he hasn’t been napping well.

I’ve successfully warded Trig off for three days and have gotten all my updates about Carl and Teresa through Eli. I nibble on my lip and stare at my screen for too long before I decide how to respond.

Me: I’m not fucking home.

Him: Then I’ll be waiting until you get there.

Shit, shit!

Me: I’m not coming home. I’m at the ranch—don’t even try to come here. There’s no way my father will let you in.

Trig: Nice try. I know your parents are still in Europe and Jen told me you’re at home. And I’d like to point out that you just texted me without the word “fucking” in it. I’m going to take that as a step toward us having a civil conversation.

I refuse to have a civil anything with Trig. And I’m going to officially kill my sister once and for all. Damn her. No more letting her blabbermouth habits slide. She’s dead to me.

Me: I hope you enjoy sitting in my driveway. The last time you barged into my space, you emotionally drained me for two days. I’ll take my chances and see you in court.

Me: Wait. I’ll FUCKING see you in court. See? Nothing’s changed.

There. I hope the air conditioning in his fancy car is broken. He can sit there in the humidity until he dehydrates for all I care.

Trig: Angel. On my way, be there in ten.

Me: Stop calling me that.

Me: No, stop FUCKING calling me that!

I wait but get nothing. Not one damn bubble.

Whatever.

I hop up from my spot on the sofa where I was going to veg-out in front of mindless TV, but I need to be as far away from him as possible. Grabbing a watermelon sparkling water, I move quickly through the house and flip off the lights as I go. Pulling up my security app, I make sure my system is armed, not that I think he’d break in, but crazier shit has happened. I should know, my marriage was a made-for-television docudrama.

When my house is darker than a new moon sky on a stormy night, I tiptoe into where Griffin snoozes. I have no plans on sleeping in the bed I shared with my dead husband ever again. In fact, it’s time I get rid of it. I’ll do that tomorrow.

I set my water down next to the daybed and crawl under my covers. If Trig starts banging on my door again, I’m not sure what I’ll do outside of calling the police, and attention from the police is the last thing on earth I need right now. Especially with CPS all over my ass.

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