Page 11 of The Man of the House

I can almost see the fury rise within Elena. Her eyes narrow, and her voice changes, anger wafting off her in waves. “You did not just insult my father.”

“It’s true, though. He was as penniless as this pathetic excuse of a man. Now, come. I’ll ignore what you said earlier. Let’s go to my house and talk. Women need to protect each other.”

I cannot take it anymore, and despite not wanting to hurt the other woman’s feelings, I will not let her hurt Elena. She can insult me all she wants, but not Elena, Gina, and her late husband. With a glare, I ask, “Is that what you told your daughter, Mrs. Roberts, when she brought home a married man who left his wife and kids for her?”

A muscle pulses on her cheek, and her nostrils flare. “You son of a bitch. That’s none of your business.”

“Exactly the point Elena’s been trying to make. Good evening.”

I turn my back to her as I motion for Elena to walk before me. If she’s so angry that she wants to stab me, then she can do so, but I won’t let her touch Elena.

The door closes behind me, and Elena whirls, tears streaming down her face. It’s like a punch to the gut. “Elena, I?—”

“I think she’s right, Evan.”

Her words hit me like a hot knife in my stomach. “Elena, she’s not. You can’t?—”

“This is all sorts of wrong. You’re my stepdad, and my mom died. Yes, a year ago, but still. You were her husband, and yet here we are playing like a happy couple.”

I open my mouth to say something, but the guilt hits me in full force. Her words hang in the air, sharp, biting, and irrevocable.

My throat tightens as a flicker of pain crosses her face. “Elena, is that how you really feel?”

“Mrs. Roberts won’t be the first and the last to think about us like that. I can’t live like this, where every pair of eyes is on me, on us. I can’t have people confronting me from out of nowhere and telling me how I live my life is wrong.”

The colors fade to a muted gray with every word from Elena. My whole world blurs as a dull ache blooms beneath my ribs. My fingers twitch, desperate to reach for her, but they stay frozen at my sides. I force myself to speak, to let her know what exactly I feel for her. “I love you, Elena. Tell me you don’t feel the same way, and I’ll let you go.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I know she hears it.

“I … I’m leaving tomorrow. Goodbye, Evan. It was good while it lasted.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe. I watch her walk upstairs, trying to hold herself together. I want to go to her, comfort her, and tell her everything’s going to be okay, but I can’t do any of that if I’m the source of her pain, of her suffering.

I promised Gina I’d take care of Elena, and I failed.

The only woman I’ve ever loved, and I lost her.

6

ELENA

Everything is a literal blur because from the moment I wake up to the minute I sit on the plane, I don’t stop crying. I’ve gotten weird stares from my fellow passengers and even had a concerned lady ask me if someone hurt me.

How can I tell her my heart is breaking and I feel a hollow ache in my chest? How can I explain that I found the love of my life, but had to leave out of fear of being judged by others?

I press my forehead to the cold window, trying to relieve the pain in my chest and the heavy weight in my stomach. Evan’s face flashes behind my eyes—his lopsided smile, the way his blue eyes glow when he’s happy, his muscles flexing with every move.

God, I love him. I love him so much it hurts.

Was I wrong? Did I make such a hasty decision that would end up hurting us both? Was I too wrapped up in others’ opinions that I sacrificed my own happiness? People like Mrs. Roberts shouldn’t have a say in my life or Mom’s. They’re nothing but vicious gossips who thrive on others’ pain.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Someone settles into the seat beside me, and it barely registers through my haze of sadness and heartbreak. I don’t think I can function properly anymore. My life before Evan seems so far away now, and it’s all I can do not to bawl my eyes out again.

I wipe my cheeks quickly, a bit embarrassed to be caught like this, and turn to apologize, expecting a stranger looking awkward and uncomfortable.

But it’s not a stranger.

It’s him. Evan.

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