Page 61 of Dream with Me

A minute or two later, we’re finally ready to leave the restaurant. This whole experience has left me drained and frustrated. I stand and head toward the door, Will following close—too close—behind. I steal another glance at Troy. He’s fully engaged in conversation with the blonde now. At least her hand isn’t on him anymore.

I’ve been feeling better about myself lately. With the spin classes, I’ve lost seven pounds, but that’s not what’s been making me feel better. It’s because I’ve been consistently doing the class, and as much as I hate it, that plus walking gives me energy. I’m also proud of myself for sticking with exercising. So today, I finally got brave enough to wear the pencil skirt I bought a few months ago but never wore. I have on a feminine, lovely silk blouse, but I wish I had worn flats instead of these heels. I spent more time on my appearance today, wanting to feel confident in my new outfit, and now I regret it. I worry it’s drawn more of Will’s attention than I want.

As we approach the door, I’m in a hurry to get out of here and away from Will. I reach for the handle, then Will wraps his arm around me and grabs my hand. I pull my hand away as if it’s been burned and glance over at Troy and Lincoln, only to find Lincoln leaning back against the counter, watching us. His face is twisted in a rage I’m not used to seeing on my fun-loving, golden retriever brother-in-law. Troy is still with the blonde, but he’s looking over here now, too.

Dammit, why does he have to look right when Will decides to touch me? As if he can read my thoughts, Will takes his hand and rests it across the small of my back, guiding me out of the restaurant. As soon as we’re outside, I put some distance between us and immediately race back to the office.

“Hey, where’s the fire?” he says.

God, what a poor choice of words. I keep walking, not caring that my irritation is obvious. At least, not caring until he grabs my arm and slows me down.

“Shannon, what’s going on with you?”

I stop on the sidewalk and turn to face him. “You said this was a lunch with colleagues. Well, it very much seems that was never your intention, and I don’t appreciate being deceived.”

Will backs up slightly and puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Whoa, whoa. I didn’t deceive you. I thought the guys from my office were coming, too. Apparently, they decided not to.”

What a load of bullshit.

“You thought that three men from your team, whom I barely talk to, were going to come to a celebration lunch for me? I could see it if maybe it was a couple of people I’m friendly with, but I don’t know those guys at all, and I’m pretty sure Jonah downright hates me.”

“Relax. It’s no big deal. Let’s get back to the office.”

This jackass told me to relax. No ‘big deal’?

When I get back to the office, I grab my stuff and send an email to Will, telling him I’m not feeling well and I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off. I don’t give him a chance to respond before I head out the door.

I pull out my phone, desperate to see if there’s any text from Troy, but there isn’t. Part of me is surprised and disappointed. Another part of me is annoyed at him for talking to the blonde for so long, but I have no right to be. I have no say over what he does. I could tell by her giggling and the look on her face she was flirting with him. I want to be mad at him for doing something wrong, but again, I have no right because he’s not mine anymore. Also, I’m pretty sure Troy has never noticed when women flirt with him—something that has happened often during our marriage—so I can be pretty sure he wasn’ttryingto make me jealous.

CHAPTER33

TROY

My hands shake as I unfold the wrinkled white piece of paper I’ve picked up with the intent to read dozens of times over the last week. Only I haven’t. I always put it back down.

I’ve scheduled a call with Annette for right after my lunch plans tomorrow. I need some resolution around this, as it’s affecting me too much. So, I want to be prepared before talking to her, and reading the letter is part of that. I trust John more than I trust anyone else in the world. If he thinks reading this might help me, then I probably should. I also talked about it with Marissa, and she agrees this could help me get final closure with my father.

Mostly, though, I’ve wanted to talk about it with Shannon. Then I saw her at the restaurant yesterday. When I saw her with him, something inside of me cracked... maybe what’s left of my heart. She let him touch her. She let him use his hand to guide her out the door. The image of him touching mywife is seared in my brain.

Since that moment, I’m filled with anger, fear that I’ve truly lost her, jealousy...

There’s a part of me that also feels used. I never thought that she would be physical with me without there at least being something deep inside her that knows we belong together. Something about us that calls to her soul, like it does to mine. But I guess maybe I was wrong.

I don’t know what it was that I saw. I don’t know if it was simply colleagues having lunch or if there’s something romantic brewing between them. Before we’re even divorced. But I do know that his hand was on her longer than it needed to be if she didn’t want it there. I know that when the attractive woman working at the restaurant put her hand on me, I moved away. I wasn’t rude about it, but it felt wrong having another woman touch me, even in a mildly flirty way. Besides that, I didn’t want Shannon to think, for a minute, I wanted the woman touching me.

Here’s the thing, though. Shannon knew I was there. She knew there was a chance I would see him touching her. She let it happen anyway.

Maybe Marissa is right, and my refusing to entertain the possibility of an alternative outcome—one where Shannon and I don’t somehow work this out before our court date—could be detrimental to me. Truthfully, there’s a part of me that doesn’t care. I don’t care what happens to me if my family is safe, my kids are happy, and my wife isn’t hurt. So, ever since the judge gave us the delay, my heart and mind have refused to accept that it’s over.

I hate that I haven’t been able to share this letter with Shannon. I hate even more the reasons why.

I unfold the paper and focus my eyes on the writing scratched across the stark white paper. It’s a little difficult to read, appearing to have been written with a tremulous hand and trailing off at the end of a few of the words.

Dear Troy,

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this letter, though I have asked Annette to try to get it to you. You don’t owe me anything, even reading this letter. If you are, thank you for doing it.

I’m gonna be direct. I’m an alcoholic. I have been for many years, and I was when I was with you and your mom. I don’t know how much you were aware of it, but it was getting bad around the time that I left.

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