Colt: Why did you send Tee a ‘Dear John’ letter?
The text has been driving me crazy since I received it.
She told Zee and Zee made Colt text me. I see the writing in the sky—only a dumbass wouldn’t try to fix the situation when Zee and Tee are like sisters.
Happy wife, happy life.
“I wish I could have some of that,” I mutter to myself as I slump behind the wheel and drift down Main Street toward the detachment.
Of course, that admission makes my stomach twist.
Happy wife?
I grit my teeth and shove the thought aside. Like I’ve been doing all week.
I knew confessing would be an unmitigated disaster, but it’s so much worse than I thought. Work, while not as high-pressure as I’d prefer it, has helped.
Some.
When he calls for the millionth time, I suck it up despite being close to the station and answer, “What?”
“You just going to ignore me?”
“No.”
“Well? What the fuck is going on with you, Cody?”
I pull up outside the bakery and stare straight ahead.
“I know you’re there.”
“No shit.” I close tired eyes. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t understand. You can’t.”
“Did you hear her playing the violin last night? At 3 AM?”
“I didn’t. I’ve been sleeping at the detachment.”
“You’re such a moron.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Look, she’s upset, Zee’s upset, everyone’s fucking upset. Have you apologized to her?”
An apology—what’s an ‘I’m sorry’ supposed to fix when I broke her heart?
Sure, I’ve been trying. The blue chalcedony teardrop. A jar of her favorite coffee, overnighted from one of the bespoke coffee shops she liked in NYC, a coffee shop that doesnotdo deliveries, appearing in the kitchen cabinet…
But it’s not enough.
I can’t buy my way out of this.
Now would be a great time to know abruja.
“Cody? Jesus Christ. Talk to me. A ‘Dear John’ isn’t like you. Even in school, you wouldn’t be so insensitive. This is the opposite of who you are. It’s out of character?—”