Page 110 of Knotted

So, instead of barging in on my wife or shopping for headstones for Trent, I stand there, rooted in place, fists clenching and unclenching.

My brain’s spinning out, trying to figure out the next move when my new phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out to see Harrison’s name flash across the screen.

“What?”

“If you need alone time with the Ficus, that’s cool. But if you need a place to crash tonight, mi casa es su casa.”

I let out a breath, half chuckle, half exasperated sigh and simply say, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I know how Jules works. Coming at her full force, with all the charm of a bull in a china shop is the quickest way to lose her for good.

So, I go up to the door, and knock.

After a moment, it opens. Just barely. Taylor peeks out. “She doesn’t want to speak to you.”

The flimsy chain lock would be so easy to bust open, I could do it with a finger, but I don’t.

“Let me in, Taylor.”

“Um”—she pretends to think—“No.”

Then she closes the door in my face. And now I’m banging on the door hard enough for the neighbors to hear. A few peek their heads out, then scurry back inside. Which pisses me off more, because what if I was an actual bad guy?

Finally, it opens, chain intact, Jules, with red, swollen eyes, looking up at me. She looks so defeated, it’s taking everything in me not to kick in the door and scoop her up in my arms. “What do you want?” Her voice is small. So small.

“I, uh...” I notice people peeking their heads out again. This time with camera phones. I rub my neck to regain control. Any sudden moves are sure to go viral. “Can we talk?”

“No,” she says softly. I can see she’s barely holding ittogether, and I slip a hand through the door, hoping she’ll take it.

Miraculously, she does.

“I promise you, I can explain. It wasn’t what it looked like, and?—”

“Can we talk in the morning? I’m tired, and I just need a good night’s rest.”

“Sure. I’ll be here. Bright and early. I’ll even bring your favorite muffins,” I add, hoping to sweeten the deal. I know she loves the peach ones with cream cheese frosting—bite-sized so she can eat them by the handful and still get that perfect cream-cheese-to-muffin ratio.

“Goodnight,” she says, her voice quick and final as she slips her hand from mine. Abruptly, the door clicks shut like a slap, the kind that lingers long after the sting fades.

I make my way to the street, but every nerve in my body screamsTurn around, you idiot. Don’t leave her. Not like this. And just as I’m about to, I hear her, soft but firm. “Brian, wait.”

I whip around, and then she’s on me—lips crashing into mine with a kiss so fierce, it steals my breath, my sanity, my soul.

It’s heat and want, deep and raw, pulling me under until I’m drowning in her. My hands grip her like she’s the only thing tethering me to the world. And in that moment, she is.

Then, as fast as it started, it’s over.

She’s gone, and I’m left standing there, panting and stunned like I’ve been hit by a truck.

It takes a beat for me to notice the tiny weight in my hand. To open my palm and see it—her wedding ring, cold and final.

It isn’t until a car pulls up that I blink from the fog. The window rolls down. Harrison hollers, “Get in.”

I don’t move. “What?”

“You’ve been standing there for half an hour, and it’s about to rain. Get in.”

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