Page 91 of A Me and You Thing
I know she’s hurting. We all are.
Then it hits me. This is out of my hands. I’m a spectator, someone knocking on the door, begging to be let in. No, I’m locked out and begging to be letbackin. The decision isn’t mine, it’s theirs. I’m here with my arms wide open, ready to embrace my life. But it’s not mine anymore.
Bree stole it. In jest, she admitted as much. The truth is, I wasn’t here to have it stolen from me. No, I left the door wide open, inviting anyone to enter and take what was mine. It just so happened to be Bree.
I want them to be the bad guys. I want to rage and scream and yell at them.
But there are no bad guys. Just two people who made the best of a hard situation. I can’t even object or feel betrayed. That’s the hardest part of all.
No matter, it still hurts. I’m allowed to be upset, to let my emotions pour out of me.
Without another word, I turn and go up the stairs. I don’t go to our bedroom. I don’t want to be with Sawyer right now. He’s confused and overwhelmed.
Trapped.
Am I positive he knows what he really wants?
No.
We’ve been apart for two years. He’s changed, and so have I. Can we salvage what we once had? I don’t know. Maybe it’s too late and too much has transpired. I’m interrupting his life, forcing huge changes.
For the first time, I’m unsure of Sawyer, and it hurts so much I can barely breathe.
I go to Josie and Jordyn’s room. I don’t want to disturb them or alarm them. I just want to be close to them. I hunker down in a corner of their room, curl up in a ball, and lean my head against the wall.
And I weep. Hot silent tears.
Returning from the dead is harder than I imagined. Right about now, it’s on par with an epic fail. I now understand the termbetter off dead.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Quinn
WHEN I’M AWAKENED by Sawyer, I know it’s only been minutes since I dozed off. I knew he’d come after me, that he’d want to explain and somehow comfort me. That’s the kind of man he is.
The house holds a-middle-of-the-night-oceanfront-chill in the air, making me shiver. He’s kneeling in front of me, his anxiety-ridden eyes lit up by the small nightlight in the room.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He’s holding a blanket in his hands and he places it on me. I welcome the warmth.
“I’m right here.”
“You scared me. I thought you left.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He studies me, trying to gauge my mood. “I’m sorry, Quinn,” he whispers, so as not to awaken Josie and Jordyn.
“Me too.” I guess it’s our turn to have a whispered conversation. There’s a lot of that going around.
He offers his hand. “Come to bed.”
“I think I’ll stay right here. I feel like being close to the girls.”
“Can I join you?”
“I don’t know, can you?” My words don’t come across as challenging, they come across as sad.
“You’re my wife. I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe. All I want to do is hold you,” he says with a plea in his tone.
