Page 80 of Ripple Effect
“What are you doing here, Cal?” I want to smack the pleading look off his handsome face. “I believe you were told by my attorneys I have absolutely no desire to see you. Ever.” My words are succinct in case my point wasn’t made clear enough by the utter disgust in my voice.
“You left,” he says as if he’s still shocked by the fact I would walk out on our marriage after catching him in the arms of another woman.
“You’re a smart man, Cal.” I push to my feet behind my desk, but I don’t walk around it. I need the barrier between us so I can hold up this cold facade and not use my nails to tear out his fucking wounded eyes as I unleash holy hell on him.
“How long has this been going on, Cal?” I ask mockingly. “Months? Years?”
He remains stubbornly silent in front of me, but each word I say is riling him.
Too fucking bad.
“I hope you were made aware part of our divorce mandates you being tested for AIDS and STDs.”
His jaw begins to tick. “I never slept with Iris.”
“It’s a pity I can’t believe you, now isn’t it?” I drawl. Fury over what I saw unfurls through me. “How could you do this to me? To Sam?” I hiss.
“There are things you don’t understand…”
“Do I need to recommend Sam gets a paternity test for Rachel?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, but God, seeing the pain they inflict on Cal makes it worth the further wounds I just caused to my own heart.
“How can you stand there and believe the crap spilling out of your mouth?” He’s yelling now, and somehow it settles me.
Because Cal being the injured party is a damn joke. “What would you do if you came home and found me wrapped in a man’s arms, Calhoun? If his lips had just lifted from mine? If there was an intimacy there you could sense?”
“I’d talk to you,” he calmly says.
“You’re so full of shit. Unless, of course, you wanted to talk with me about an open marriage?” His jaw falls open at my query. “So, what’s yours is yours, but what’s supposed to be mine is leasable? Fuck that. And fuck you.”
“Libby.” Cal moves forward, but I hold up a hand. “Please, talk to me, honey,” he pleads. “There are reasons for what you saw.”
“There’s nothing to say.” I’m firm on that.
“Please. Give me five minutes.”
I’m astounded he thinks he deserves five minutes of my time. There’s a small part of my heart that wants to hear what web of lies he wants to spin, but the large part that held out hope he’d call me after he got my message from Rebecca holds it back. Just the sight of him is making me more nauseous than I had anticipated at seeing him for the first time—though I had prepared myself for it being at the arbitrator’s office, not my design studio.
“I can barely stand the sight of you,” I spit out.
He winces, but it’s the God’s honest truth.
I gave him forty-eight hours to get my message. Two days of nonstop crying where despite the vitriol I left as my voicemail, I was checking it to see if he cared enough to call. Instead, I was getting updates from Rebecca that, “Cal was out of touch and he would call me when he could.”
After receiving that debasing message, I called my brother and had what may be the most humiliating conversation of my life that ended with Josh saying, “Pack a bag. We’ll get the rest later,” my brother came to get me to drive me to Akin Estates. It took me a week at home and a few days with the help of my mother, my brother, and my sister-in-law to move out of the home I shared with Cal, taking only the things that were mine—nothing of ours.
Cal still hadn’t called. But Rebecca did still—business as usual—leaving me messages as if I gave a damn about how much longer it was going to be until Cal was going to be home because it wasn’t a home anymore.
Three weeks after my nightmare started, six weeks after my sixth wedding anniversary, I was living in the house I inherited from Nonna before Cal made this attempt to bridge the gap between us. But now, it’s way too late. I’ve already engaged attorneys, removed my wedding rings, and systematically started closing the doors on my heart that had anything to do with Calhoun Sullivan.
Just like I’m about to do now.
“You must think I’m a bigger idiot than I thought if you think I give a damn about you and your reasons. Take them, and Iris, and go find somewhere to fuck them both.” I find the inner fortitude to storm around the desk. “Now, get out of my office before I call building security to have you escorted out.” Reaching my door, I fling it open. My hand is so tight around the knob, I’m certain it’s going to break off in my hand.
Cal moves toward me slowly. There’s a wretched look of pain on his face I can’t look at anymore, as if his heart is suffering. “Don’t do this to us, Libby,” he beseeches.
“I didn’t, Cal. You did. Remember that.” Just as he crosses the threshold, I slam the door with all my might. Then I lock it.
I can’t care how Cal feels. I’m dying inside every minute I’m alive knowing the heart I believed was mine belongs to someone else. I’m the one who lies in bed night after night crying, my body reaching for him—intuitively—even though he’s spent more time out of our bed than in it. God, was he sleeping with Iris on all of these trips? What about Sam?
