Page 21 of Til Divorce Do Us Start

How could I be so stupid?

I want to scream. Rip something apart. Set his stuff on fire—figuratively,for now—but get the hell out of hereliterally.

Instead, I force my legs to move, drag myself to the shower, and try not to fall apart under the water.

I try to scrub every bit of him off my body. I don’t’ want to remember. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to give him this power over me asecondtime. So I sniffle, tell myself that the water on my face is from the shower, then hurry to my room. I pack a bag and call Trish so I have a place to escape to.

I walk out of the house, carrying a change of shoes with me and fumble with my keys. I just want to get in my car and go. I don’t want anyone to know that I backslid like this, that I-

“Noelle?”

I hear Colin’s voice behind me, but I don’t stop. I don’t even look at him.

He probably thought I’d call. Thought I’d text. Thought I’d fall apart, curled up on the couch waiting for an explanation. But I won’t give him that. Not this time. Irefuseto be the girl who waits around for crumbs.

“Noelle, wait—” He catches my arm, but I shove my shoulder into him, desperate to break free.

“I’m leaving,” I snap, my voice shaking with everything I’m trying to hold back. “Just like you want. Since you clearly can’t find the words to tell me this was a one-night stand. That it’s all your dick—or maybe your cowardice—can handle.”

I make it nearly to my car, fists clenched, throat tight, before I’m spun around. Colin grabs my bag and slings it over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, blocking my path with a look that’s anything but calm.

His chest heaves. His jaw is tight. And when I try to speak, what comes out is a scream I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

“Go on! Say something! You’re capable oftalking,right? So do it!Say something!”

He’s trembling now. His eyes aren’t cold or cruel—they’re panicked.

And when he finally speaks, his voice is barely more than a rasp. “Do not leave.”

Not a demand. Not a command.

A plea.

“Why shouldn’t I? Becauseyoudo the leaving? It’s not your-”

“I went to get you croissants at that place you like. I didn’t think it would take so long. Some lady decided to yell about pecans being in her pecan croissant and added almost thirty minutes to the trip. I would have been home before you woke up. I wanted to get you something nice,” he says in a rush.

I blink at him.

“I don’t want you to leave, Noelle. I said that how many times last night? I told you to stay, told you that you belong with me. You think that was bullshit?”

My eyes water. “It was in the heat of the moment.”

“Now you know me better than that,” he argues.

“It’s because of the judge then! Because you don’t want to be the reason the divorce doesn’t get approved. You don’t want-”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he agrees, then cups my face. His thumb traces my bottom lip. “I don’t care about themarriage. I care about you. I like you in my house. I like you in my bed. I like your weird décor. I like that you sing when you do things. I like that you just can’t stand silence and you have strange rules you’re determined to make me obey.”

“But ... but you hate me.”

He pulls me closer, huffing. “If I hated you, would I have left bed this morning to get you your three favorite croissants? If I hated you, would I have teased you while we were cooking? Would I have kissed you twice before I left and gave you my pillow because it calmed you down?”

I don’t have an answer.

“The only thing I hate right now is that I’m falling for you and wasted ten years hating you instead and trying to keep up with your insults rather than kissing you and apologizing.” He keeps talking to me, but I get stuck on the fact that he’s falling for me. He lifts my chin. “Did you hear me?”

“You’re falling for me,” I whisper.

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