Page 60 of Truck Stop Titan

“What the eff?” I asked my closet. He hadn’t even tried to move out. That smug bastard hadn’t left.

I attacked, ripping his clothes off the hangers, throwing his shoes into the hallway, tearing his underwear out of the drawer. When I’d emptied his side ofmycloset, I grabbed the biggest armful I could manage and carried them through the garage, straight to the driveway, and tossed them in his parking spot.

I turned to head inside for another load when headlights beamed and tires screeched. The engine cut. A door slammed.

“Moe?” Matthew said, careful, calculated.

If I turned around, I’d see his “you’re acting crazy again” face. The expression he wore every time I brought up any non-agreeable issues involving our relationship. If I dared to look at that face, I’d lose my cool. I didn’t turn around.

“I told you we were over. I told you to get out of my house. You can pick up your things tomorrow.” I stepped inside the garage, then pushed the button, lowering the garage door, way too slowly for my liking. Regardless, I’d made my point. At least, I’d thought I had, until I heard his keys working the lock of the front door.

I met him at the entryway, face heated, head pounding. “Give me my key. Turn around. Get out.”

He wore his favorite navy suit. Tie loose. Eyes sad. “Moriah. Let’s talk about this.”

“Nothing to discuss.”

“We’re not over. You can’t break up over a text.”

“I can. I did.”

He huffed. Shook his head. “I’m not leaving.” His smile was forced, and not the least bit genuine.

“Get out.”

“This is my home, too.”

Wrong. My name was on the title. Matthew was aware of that fact, so I didn’t bother arguing. “Get out.”

“I love you, Moe.”

“Last time. Hand over the key and leave.”

Matthew pushed past me, running a hand through his thick, blond hair. “If this is about the kid. We’ll figure something out.” He dropped his briefcase next to the La-Z-Boy. Kicked off his shiny brown loafers. “We’ll do right by her, whether she’s with us or someone else.”

“Someone else?” I shrieked, every ounce of my blood boiling. “Her name is Mim. And there is nothing to figure out. She’s mine, Matthew. Mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine! You are in no way involved. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

Matthew’s head jerked at my use of the actual F word, his eyes widening. Hands to hips, he dropped his head. Licked his lips, then lifted an angry gaze to my watery eyes. “You’re exhausted, clearly. Let’s sleep on this. We’ll talk in the morning.”

I searched my pockets for my phone because for damned sure, a call to the police would get rid of him. Only, my phone wasn’t in my pocket.

My phone was in Mim’s tiny fingers, where she stood right behind me, Dane still on the other end of the line, screaming, “Moriah, baby. What’s happening. Fuck! Shit! Moriah!”

Mim’s wide-eyed gaze darted from me to Matthew, back and forth.

I dropped to my knees and got right in her face. “Hey, Little Lady. Sorry you had to hear that.” I plucked the phone from her fingers and tucked her against my side, holding her tight. Dead set on getting that stubborn man out of my home and away from my niece, I mumbled into the cell, “I’ll call you right back,” then ended the call without explanation. Then I dialed 911.

The police arrived seventeen minutes later.

Matthew, being an attorney with the most prestigious law firm in Shelby County, convinced them that we were fine, merely having a lovers’ spat. After seeing that Mim and I were safe, and in no physical danger, the officers left, leaving me seething, but holding my shit together for Mim’s sake.

I could not give her reason to be afraid.

She’d come so far the past two weeks.

Buckup,littlecamper, I repeated to myself while I made dinner, the little girl clinging to my side. We ate at the table, Mim staring at Matthew, Matthew staring at me, while I wondered how I’d ever believed I could live happily ever after with that man.

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