Page 90 of A Love That Broke Us
My pulse steadies, and I step forward—into the first hug with my dad in over ten years. “Hi, Dad,” I say, my voice shaky, choked with all that I’m feeling.
I let myself fall into his arms, and the dam breaks. Tears streak down my face, and every crack begins to fill with hope.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ALLEY
PRESENT DAY
My tearsfinally subside as I sink into Matt’s arms—a grounding force pulling me back to reality. I’m not alone in this. Not completely, anyway.
“Alley.” Matt’s voice is quiet, comforting. “What’s going on? Megan texted me, said you couldn’t find Jensen.”
I swallow hard, my throat raw from crying and sore from screaming. My eyes are swollen, and my head pounds.
I don’t answer.
“Is he using again?” he asks, gently. Just hearing him say it unleashes another wave of grief.
I don’t want to say it. Not out loud. Maybe if I keep it to myself, like I’ve been doing for the past few weeks, it won’t be real. But it is, and Matt’s asking.
I squeeze my eyes shut, more tears slipping out. I nod, unable to speak. I hate how this moment feels familiar—deja vu in the worst way—a scene I never wanted to replay.
I tighten my grip like he alone can take the pain away. Like he can make it better, or fix this. Fix him. Fix us.
“Yeah,” I finally admit, my voicebarely audible.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” I loosen my grip and sit up. “It’s our anniversary…” My gaze drops to my hand, landing on a chipped nail I broke earlier. I pick at it, whispering, “He didn’t call. Didn’t text. Just didn’t fucking show up.” I clench my fist, lifting my eyes to meet Matt’s.
He rubs my back, his own eyes closing like he’s trying to absorb the blow with me. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” I take a slow breath, then let it out. “Thank you for being here.”
“Of course.” He leans back and tips his head against the couch, dragging both hands down his face. “Fuck.”
“That’s what I said.” A weak smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, but it doesn’t quite make it.
A groan falls from Matt’s lips, and he leans forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Fuck,” he mutters again, quieter this time.
Then he looks at me. “I suspected. A few weeks ago. But I didn’t want it to be true. God…” His voice cracks, the sound slicing through me, tightening my throat all over again. “I didn’t want it to be true, Al.”
I press my palm to his back, rubbing gently to comfort him this time, as he starts to break too. They’re best friends, practically brothers. They’ve seen each other through everything. This doesn’t just affect me. It affectsallof us. But, at the end of the day, I’m not blood. I’m not his sister. I’m not his mother. I’m not his brother sitting next to me, breaking down because his best friend is disappearing.
I’m his wife.
And as much as I love him—God, I love him—I have something none of them do. I have a choice.
I can leave.
I don’thaveto stay.
Not anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ALLEY
