Page 109 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight

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I watch her waver before she sighs quietly.

Relief ripples through me.

She’s going to let this go.

Thank fuck.

But when she speaks, her words are soft…and completely eviscerate me. “And if we get in bed right now, you’ll fall asleep?”

I force myself not to flinch.

No, of course I won’t fucking sleep.

I’ll lie awake, convince myself that blip of hope is a lie.

That things will go wrong.

That I’ll ruin another woman.

“Right,” she says, her voice turning fierce as she plunks her hands onto her hips. “We’re talking about this now. We’re sorting it now.”

My temple begins to throb.

“I need you to talk to me, Gray?—”

My name on her tongue doesn’t go straight to my cock this time.

Nope.

I may as well be a eunuch right now—or diving into an icy fucking pool, my balls retracting into my body.

“—not because you owe me answer, but because I’m tired of seeing you hurting, honey. Because you’ve held me as I cried and given me a safe space to be me and helped me realize that I don’t have to be alone. Please trust me enough to talk to me, to be your safe space right back.”

Her words are fair.

And so fucking tempting I almost give in.

In fact, I open my mouth, preparing to tell her everything when there’s a huge crash against the front door.

And just like that, the past crawls up my throat and clamps its fingers around my windpipe, smothering the words. Instead what comes out is?—

“Aren’t you supposed to be shy and sweet and retiring?”

The asshole.

Confirming exactly what I’ve always known—that eventually I’ll do this to Faye too, eventually I’ll turn on her, hurt her.

And the evidence is right there in the flicker of pain crossing her face.

Only, Faye doesn’t back down. Her cheeks go pink. Her chin lifts. Anger flashes through those deep brown eyes. “Don’t you dare go there, Grayson Roberts,” she snaps jabbing a finger into my chest and scowling at me. “I’m a nice person. I like you?—”

“You love me,” I can’t help but interject.

(And yeah, I’m fully aware this isn’t the right time to bring that back up.)

Her lids close and I can practically hear her counting to ten.

Then she peels them open and looks—okay, glares—at me.

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