Page 108 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight

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Then he’s chuckling and the sound soothes the roughest edges of my worry.

I can do this.

I can help him see.

“I miss the old bat,” he murmurs as we walk into the bedroom.

“Me too,” I say softly. “She gave me all the good recon on you.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?”

“I would.” A beat. “That’s why I asked.” He wraps his arms around me, draws me flush against him, curved lips descending toward mine.

I know if he kisses me, I’ll be distracted by all that’s him and I won’t push this.

Then he’ll go internalizing all this hurt, this blame.

And who knows what kind of damage Courtney will cause in the meantime.

I need to tackle this head on.

For me.

And more importantly?—

For Gray.

“I’ll tell if you do.”

Thirty-Five

Gray

One second, I’ve finally pushed Courtney—and the noise she’s making out front—from my head.

The next, my world’s being rocked by Faye.

“Red,” I warn again, straightening and stepping away from her. “It’s late.”

I just want her to drop this shit, to let me protect that small kernel of hope I’ve finally managed to cobble together, to trust in that before I tear myself wide open and admit what I’ve done, how I’ve fucked up, all I’ve ruined.

But one look at her face tells me that’s not going to happen.

“Baby—”

“No baby”—she slices her hand through the air—“please just talk to me.”

I waver.

Because I want to. God, I want that so fucking bad.

Because I know she’ll be my Faye, soft and sweet and kind as she listens, but I just…can’t.

Because if she looks at me like?—

I grit my teeth together, shake my head, cutting my greatest fear off in its tracks. “Later, Red. Right now, I’m exhausted, baby. I need sleep.”

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