Page 52 of My Sweetest Obsession
To tell me what a mistake last night was.
To remind me how much she hates me.
But there isn’t any sign of her, save for her purse sitting on the counter just inside the door that leads to the garage and her shoes on the floor near it, like she came in and kicked them off haphazardly.
The way I found her last night flashes through my head, and my gut tightens as hard as my hand does around the bag.
Is she in bed again, practically catatonic?
Leaving her was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, but if she had woken and I was still in her bed—in their bed—wrapped around her, it would have only complicated things even more for both of us.
And I had to paint.
I had to get that out after all this time, or I would have imploded.
Still, the guilt remains.
At walking away when she still needed me…
She may need you tonight.
That little voice whispers as I set the bag on the counter and proceed down the hall toward the bedroom. Each step that draws me closer to the open door only amps up the apprehension over what I might find.
If she’s like that again…
But the rumpled bed is empty.
Her scent permeates the room, though—that sweet, floral smell that can act like a soothing balm for my soul or attack it violently depending on the mental state I find myself in when it hits me.
Tonight, it brings tears to my eyes that mirror those we both shed last night, and when an all too familiar sound draws my attention across the room to the closed bathroom door, they finally fall.
A sob.
Filled with anger, frustration, and anguish.
One I recognize all too well.
Ivy has cried enough tears to fill the world’s oceans a hundred times over, and no matter how much I want it, how many times I pray to God for it, they aren’t going to stop.
And I’m the reason her world has fallen apart.
I’m the reason she’s here, alone and pregnant, when Drew should be at her side through what should be the most joyful time of their lives.
Which is why I should turn around and leave.
I know deep down that it’s the right thing to do, yet I rub at the sharp ache in my chest and slowly move toward the closed bathroom door. Now that I’m closer, I can hear the water running in the shower, mixing with the sounds of her distress.
Just like it always seems to where Ivy is concerned, memories overwhelm me. Her pain last night, mixing and twisting together with the feel of holding her in my shower, of washing her smooth skin clean after I fucked her on the canvas.
My ribcage tightens until I can barely draw in a breath.
Fuck…
I press my hands flat against the wooden panel and lower my forehead to it, listening to the sound of the rushing water and Ivy’s sobs.
Tears trail down my cheeks.
My stomach turns.
