Page 21 of Every Promise Broken

Before I even have a chance to knock, the front door is pulled open, and my heart thumps as I lay eyes on Whit. Hands stuffed into the pockets of my jeans, I tip my chin at him by way of greeting, and he steps to the side, waving me in.

“Come on in.”

As I step through the threshold to my ex-husband’s house, it hits me square in the chest that this is the first time I’ve ever been here. His scent surrounds me as he closes the door behind me, and it makes my throat tight.

“I just made a fresh batch of lemonade,” he murmurs, coming around in front of me. “Would you like some?”

Clearing my throat, I say, “Sure. Thank you.”

The silence that descends upon us as he walks into the kitchen and pours us both a drink is stifling. Handing me one of the glasses, he nods to the side. “We can go sit outside if you want.”

“Nice house you’ve got,” I murmur as we meander across the hardwood floor toward the back sliding glass door.

“Thank you.”

We sit down, and I’m hit with the realization that I have no fucking idea how I’m supposed to start this conversation. No version of this as it plays in my mind sounds right. Each version sounds nuttier than the rest.

After several long moments where neither of us says a word, Whit sets his glass on the table between us, glancing my way. “So, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

That’s a lie.

Whit arches a brow behind his thick frames, hands clasped in his lap. “Okay, then why did you need to come over here?”

Just fucking spit it out, Conrad. Get it over with.

“Nana is coming to town,” I decide to start with.

Eyes lighting up at that, his lips curve up. “Is she? That’s exciting. How’s she doing these days?”

“She’s fine, I think.”

A puzzled expression morphs his face. “You think?”

“Well, we don’t talk much, but she seems fine.”

“Conrad.”

“What?”

“She is your nana,” he goes on. “You need to make an effort to keep in touch with her. You’re all she has left.”

I didn’t come here to get scolded.Biting down on my molars, I mutter, “I’m aware. Thank you.”

“When does she get here?” he asks.

“Next month.”

“How long is she staying?”

“I’m not sure.”

His brows knit. “You didn’t ask?”

“No.”

“Conrad.”

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