Page 137 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
Gray’s company.
My heart squeezes.
I don’t have that. Won’t have it ever again.
“What a sweetheart,” I say, trying to smile back and knowing it must look pathetic given the way she reaches over and squeezes my arm.
I take a bite, try to pretend I’m enjoying it, enjoying myself.
But the truth is the cinnamon roll tastes like sawdust.
Because the last time I had them was with Gray—him feeding me small bites between kisses, licking frosting off my bottom lip, and kissing me with the scent of cinnamon and sugar hanging in the air.
“My Aiden is a sweetheart.” Luna says, pulling me out of the memory. The misery. She tilts her head to the side, studying me closely, adds softly, “And so is Gray.”
My lungs constrict.
“Though the look on your face is telling me that may not always be the case.”
“It’s fine,” I say quietly. “He and I just—” I shake my head. “Well, it doesn’t matter. But do you think I could crash here?—?”
“Yes.”
I blink.
She reaches over, pulls the cinnamon roll out of my hand, and sets it on a napkin near the box. “Yes, honey,” she says, holding my gaze. “You can stay here as long as you need.”
“But, I don’t know?—”
“As long as you need,” she repeats, squeezing my arm again.
“The baby. Bri?—”
“It’s a big house,” she says. “We have plenty of bedrooms.”
My throat goes tight, but I manage to nod, to whisper my thanks.
Silence falls for a beat before she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Me begging him?
Him walking away?
My lungs spasm as I shake my head. “I know you guys are friends and I don’t want?—”
“Gray and I are family, and”—her soft eyes come to mine—“so are you and I.”
My eyes burn with tears, and maybe I still should keep it to myself, not bring her into what Gray and I have become…but we’re family.
And this is what we do.
Besides resisting further is pointless. If I wanted to hide, wanted to do this alone, I would have ignored the text, gotten a hotel room, and lost myself in my next manuscript.
Instead, I texted Luna, came here, and?—
Now I just…let the words come.
“That jerk!” she cries, jumping up to her feet then freezing and smoothing her hand over her belly, as though her outburst startled the baby in her womb.
