Page 73 of Every Promise Broken

Nana must know I’m in no mood for her questioning, because after she gives me one last disapproving look, she leaves the room quietly, shutting the door behind her.

“Fuck!”

How the fuck am I going to fix this??

28

Whit Bowman

“Knock, knock.”

Glancing up from the spot on the coffee table that I’ve been staring at for the last hour, I watch as Shooter and Sterling walk through my front door, both of them wearing matching sympathetic expressions that make me want to crawl in a hole as they sit beside me on the couch. I grit my teeth as I fight the urge to move away. This morning, I called Shooter and asked him to come over, and I’m already regretting it. I don’t want them seeing me like this. I’m still wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday when I left Conrad’s house.

My scrubs.

And I didn’t even go to work. I called in sick. In all the years I’ve worked there, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called in. It’s just not what I do. I work through my problems. The clinic has always been a place for me to get lost in my work and forget about what’s bothering me, but I just couldn’t. Not today.

“How are you doing?” The question comes from Sterling, and the concern in his voice has tears springing to my eyes.

I can’t cry.

I cannot.

Not again, and certainly not in front of my friends.

Shrugging, I say, “I’ve been better.”

“What happened?” Shooter asks.

“Conrad and I got into a huge argument last night, and I told him I couldn’t keep up the married charade. And I left. After realizing his nana heard the whole thing.”

“What was the argument about?”

I blow out a breath, trying to decide how much I want to tell them. The idea of divulging my money problems has me nauseous, but I don’t know how to explain what happened without offering that part too.

And I need to talk about this. It’s been eating at me since last night.

Deciding to go for it, I tell them everything; the nurse for my dad, the costs, the late payments, the loan. Everything, ending with how Conrad paid the entire thing off behind my back.

When I’m done, neither of them says a word for a moment. The silence is deafening, and it feels like it goes on forever. I rub my thumbs over my fingers to steady myself, but it’s not working. My nerves are shot, and I haven’t been able to calm myself down all night. I barely slept, and it feels like I’m riding on the edge of one long panic attack that never fully goes away, no matter how many deep breaths I take.

“So, he paid off your mortgage for you?” Shooter confirms. “Not to sound ignorant, but I’m not really seeing the problem.” Sterling smacks his boyfriend’s arm, and Shooter jumps back. “What? I’m serious. That sounds really sweet. He was trying to help.”

A dry laugh bubbles past my lips, even though none of this is funny. “It’s a couple hundred thousand dollars, Shooter.” When he’s still looking at me like he doesn’t see the issue, I add, “That he paid off without communicating with me first. Don’t you get it? Our marriage fell apart because he couldn’t communicate with me. He shut me out, and he essentially did the same thing again. He took matters into his own hands without even having a conversation with me about it. It’s just…so screwed up. I’ve fought tooth and nail to get myself to a good place by myself after we got a divorce, and then he swoops in and takes it all from me in the blink of an eye without even considering how it would make me feel.”

“I would be upset if it were me,” Sterling offers, both of us turning to look at him.

“You would?” Shooter asks.

“Yes. A relationship is nothing without trust and communication,” he explains. “I would feel very hurt if you did something that major behind my back, even if your intentions were good.”

“But he was trying to help,” Shooter says, brow furrowing. “He knew you were stressed out, and he wanted to help.”

“It’s not his place, baby.” The patience Sterling always has with Shooter is astonishing. They truly are made for one another. “If he wanted to help, he should’ve had a conversation with Whit.”

“Exactly.” Blowing out a breath, I scrub a hand down my face, exhaustion gripping me. “He did it all behind my back, and that’s what hurts the most. Especially because it felt like we were finally getting somewhere. I was finally accepting my feelings for him again, and then this happens, and it reminded me about why we ended in the first place.”

“So, what now?”

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