Page 27 of Resilient Rhythms
“Nothing.” I shake my head, my eyes reading the top page again.
Petition for divorce.
Dissolution of marriage.
Divorce agreement.
“And everything,” I breathe out, meeting Aiden’s eyes. “I’m not giving up on us this time, Aiden. I’ll tell Mckenna the truth and I’ll work my ass off to win her back. But I’m not signing shit.” I slide the stack back toward him. “Not now, and hopefully not ever.”
Aiden swears softly. “You’re the biggest pain in the ass, Mav. But fuck if I’m not rooting for you.” He tucks the pages back in the manila folder and slides it into his backpack. Then, he chuckles and stands from the table, shouldering his bag. “I’ll be in touch.”
I give him a two-fingered salute as he walks away, still shaking his head and laughing to himself.
Once Aiden’s gone, I polish off my coffee.
Mckenna and I are still married. We’re still…a version of us.
While I was already committed to winning her back, knowing she’s still my legal wife changes things. It makes me want to expedite the process so we can be together again.
But I need to tread carefully. I need to approach this the right way to prove to Mckenna that she can fully trust me. That I will fight for her, for us, always.
Picking up my phone, I make a few phone calls, line up some meetings, and make a huge decision.
I’m finally ready to buy a house. Right here in Boston.
“Thanks for your help, mate.” I shake hands with my new contractor ten days later.
“See you in the morning, Mav.” He slips into the driver’s seat of his work truck and eases away from the curb.
Turning to look up at my new brownstone, I cross my arms over my chest and grin.
“What are you doing here?” my neighbor asks, appearing on her front porch.
My grin widens. “Good morning, Mckenna.”
She narrows her eyes, trying to read my jovial mood.
“I bought a house,” I explain, gesturing to the brownstone next door. Moving toward the gate in front of her place, I rest my elbow on top of the wrought iron. “We’re going to be neighbors.”
Her mouth drops open, surprise flaring in her eyes. “I…you…we…” She pauses, shaking her head. “Do you want to come in? I’m about to have breakfast.”
I chuckle. My girl misses me. “I’d love to.” I open the latch and slip inside the gate, taking the steps up to the front door.
Mckenna closes the door behind us and trails me to the kitchen.
“So, you bought the brownstone next to the one you already own?” she inquires, moving to drop more sliced bread into the toaster. “Butter, or jam?”
“Technically, the band owns this place. Jam, please. And, if it’s not too much trouble, can I have a tea?”
She automatically changes gears and sets a kettle on the stove. “Why would you buy the place next door?”
“To be closer to you,” I answer sincerely, perching on a barstool.
“Mav!”
“What? I told you I was serious about us.”
Disbelief causes Mckenna to laugh and I relish the sound.
