Page 150 of Finding Hope

“Are you mad about the internet stuff? That other chick? I swear that’s not–”

“No, I’m not mad.”I’m sick.“I promise. I just had these plans today, and I expected you home last night.”

“It’s not my fault the flights were delayed!”

“I didn’t say it was. I’ve gotta go, okay?”

“No,” he presses. “It’s not okay. I want you to stay here.”

“I can’t, I… work. Alex.”

“I want you to stay here, Brittany. I want you to choose me.”

And I want you to choose me!

Shaking my head, I turn and dart across his room. Whipping the door open, I make a run for it while he’s still naked and can’t chase. I fly down the stairs, skip past Jack’s oldest niece, and throw out a ‘sorry’ when I scare the crap out of her and send her jumping against the wall.

I swing past the kitchen and almost burst into tears at the sight of Kit at the fridge. She looks tired. I know she got home late, too, and now she’s up with her kids.

Smiling, she closes the fridge door and steps to her youngest daughter. “Morning, Britt. Want some coffee? I just put a pot on.”

“Open the gates.”

“Huh?”

I grab my bag from the table in the main entryway. “Open the gates for me, Kit!”

“Britt, wait–”

I swing the front door wide and run face first into Bobby’s broad chest. “Woah, slow down,skaterboi. What’s going on?”

Jumping back, a sob escapes my chest and almost has me folding in half. “Open the gates for me, Bobby.”

“Brittany, what’s the matt–”

“Bambie!” Jack’s voice booms from upstairs. Skidding along the landing in boxers and nothing else, his hair – shaggier than it was when I met him – hangs in confused eyes.

“Don’t let him chase me, Bobby. I’m begging you.” Turning, I dart away from the house before Jack sees me cry, and swinging into my car, I breathe out a shaky sob as the gates swing open.

Thank you, Bobby!

I race away without looking back, though I don’t miss Tina standing on her porch with her morning coffee, or Jim’s inquisitive eyes following me from his porch.

I barely escape before the tears of heartbreak and humiliation spill over and blind me.

I drive around town for an hour – around and around and around our small town – and I sob like a baby while my music blares, competing with the noise that bleeds from my chest.

I shouldn’t even be crying.This is bullshit!

Jack was my one-night-stand. He has a dead girlfriend that he never once said hewasn’tin love with. What the fuck did I expect?

She can’t be erased from his memory.

I knew from the first time he told me about her that I couldn’t compete.

Pulling into a truck stop more than an hour after I left Jack screaming at the top of the stairs, I wipe my eyes with an old takeout napkin, and with shaking hands, find makeup in my handbag and work on making myself presentable to the public.

I do my eyes up dark like club-Britt. Anything to hide the tired bags, the bloodshot eyes. Anything to distract me from my misery.

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