Page 195 of Fiery Romance

“Fellas?” Lincoln motions to the guards.

“It was a pleasure working with you, Island.” Mr. P holds out his hand. “You’ve been nothing but kind, caring, and warm to us.”

I blink rapidly, trying to keep myself together.

“I hear you’re getting married soon. I wish you nothing but the best going forward,” Mr. J adds.

“T-thank you.” I shake everyone’s hands. One after another.

Until they’re all gone.

At last, I face Lincoln. “What about Clay? How is he?”

“How do you think he is, ma’am?”

My eyes hit the floor.

Lincoln surveys me. “Miss Hayes, do you know what the difference between death and divorce is?”

“Huh?”

“With death, your partner’s in the grave. They’re never coming back. But when you separate from someone, you run into them in the grocery store. You see them on your morning jog. You get tempted to watch their social media posts and feel crappy about the fact that they’re happy and moving on. It’s ten times worse than if they’d died. It’s like being stabbed over and over again.”

“I—”

He lifts a hand. “I’ve heard enough people talk about you to presume that you’re a good person. And I know you wouldn’t intentionally slash a knife through Clay’s heart. But you did. I think, if you really care about him, the best thing to do is let him move on. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t fight it. Just let it be.”

A tear spills down my cheek. I can’t help it.

Embarrassed, I swipe it away.

Lincoln’s hard expression softens when he sees me cry. “Clay would want you to be happy. So make sure you do that. Don’t let him down any more than you already have.”

My heart shatters at his words.

“Tell Amy to send the box out. I’ll wait in the car.” Lincoln limps away.

When he’s gone, I unfold the envelope.

It’s not a long message.

In fact, there are only two lines.

Thank you for your care of Regan and Abe. Your services are no longer needed.

It’s signed simply ‘Clay’.

More fat tears slip down my face. I crush the envelope to my chest.

Amy shuffles past me. She has a box with Regan’s things. At the top is one of her favorite giraffes. The stuffed toy blurs as my tears fall faster. It feels like a real-life giraffe is doing a tap dance on my chest.

“Island?” Amy calls softly.

I turn away. My senses are being bombarded with too many thoughts and feelings. This is too public a place to breakdown. “I think I need to go for a walk.”

Amy says nothing as I hurry past her and take off down the street.

I’m walking aimlessly when my phone rings.

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