Page 47 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
“Don’t what, Laurel?”
I flick a finger between him and myself. “This. What you’re about to do. What you’re doing.”
He hesitates. “Laurel, I…”
“I’m going inside now, Paul,” I say, turning to the door.
“I’m still in love with you.”
I whirl, eyes blazing. “You were never in love with me, Paul! You needed me, but you never gave a shit about what I wanted, or what I needed! You used me every single day of our marriage.” I stab a finger in his direction. “And if you weren’t using me, you were flat-out ignoring me. So, no—sorry, Paul. Not buying it.”
He looks genuinely hurt. “Laurel, come on—”
“No, not another word.” I shake my head. “That has to be the saddest expression of jealousy yet.”
“It’s not jealousy—”
“Go home, Paul.”
“Laurel—”
I hold up a hand. “Go—home. This doesn’t happen again, okay? I’ll get a restraining order, if I have to.”
“Now come on—that’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“You’re one to talk about extremes?” I groan in aggravation. “Go home.”
He backs away. “Fine. But I’ll prove it to you. Just wait.”
I rub my palms over my face. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
“Why not? Is it this other guy? You’re in love with him?”
I stare at him balefully, doing my utter damnedest to stay calm. “This is the last time I’m going to say this kindly and calmly, Paul—go home. Leave me alone. Don’t prove anything to me—there’s nothing to prove. Stay out of my life, okay? You’re Nate’s father, and that’s all you will be to me ever again, no matter what you say, no matter what you do, no matter how healthy you become. Anything that was ever between us is long since gone, Paul, and there’s nothing there to revive. So just…don’t. For yourself, if nothing else.”
He just blinks at me. Backs away another step. “You’ll see. I’ll show you.”
“It’s one in the morning and you’re standing on my doorstep professing your love for me—and you expect me to believe you when you say you’re better, that you’re medicating? Don’t you see how this makes that a little hard to believe, even if I wanted to, even if I cared?” I stomp my foot, anger finally slipping through the cracks of my control. “Go…home, Paul. Please.”
He turns away and climbs into his car, drives away, forgetting to turn his headlights on for at least a block. Typical—he’s so lost in his own head that he forgets basic things like buckling up, turning on headlights, all sorts of things, other reasons I worry about leaving Nate with him.
I wait, watching, until he’s out of sight and actually gone before I go back inside. I deadbolt the door and then, in a panic, rush around the house making sure the rest of the doors are locked. And then, finally, I sink down into one of my kitchen chairs, shaking.
A hiccup slips out of me.
Another.
And then the hiccups turn into a sob, and a second. A third.
He’s in love with me? He’s still in love with me? I laugh, and it turns into a sob, too.
He’s going to prove it to me? That sounds…scary. Worrisome. He’s never frightened me before, but…
I can’t breathe. I’m fighting the tears and the anxiety, but it’s a crushing pressure on my chest, in my head.
I stumble into my bedroom, struggling to breathe.
I have no thoughts except one: to seek comfort. And there’s only one place in my life right now that I know where to find it.
I dial the number and hold the phone to my ear, trembling all over.
“H…h’lo? Laurel? Z’at you?” Ryder sounds so sleepy, so disoriented. I feel terrible, now.
“God, Ryder, I’m sorry. I—I didn’t want to call you. I just…”
He’s instantly more awake. “Hey, no. No. It’s fine. I’m here. What’s going on? You sound upset.”
“He—I heard a knock on my door and I—I thought it was you. And it wasn’t—it was Paul. And he was talking crazy, and I just wanted him to leave, and I was worried he’d wake up Nate, and—and then he told me he was still in love with me and how he was going to prove it to me, and I—I—”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“You don’t have to, Ryder. You have to be up early, and it’s so late.”
“Five minutes. Don’t open the door unless you know it’s me.”
“Ryder…” I have to force my lungs to suck in air. “I’m sorry. I just—I can’t breathe.”
“It’s okay—it’s going to be okay. I’ll be there in five minutes.” I hear a motor start. “I’m coming, Laurel. Just breathe.”
“Don’t hang up, Ryder. Please. I’m sorry.”
I hear the motor sound grow fainter as he backs out, and then tires squeal and the motor roars. “I’m not hanging up, Laurel. I’m here. Talk to me.”
“I—I can’t breathe. Paul, he just…he just showed up. He’s never done that before.” I try to breathe, but now that Paul is gone I’m experiencing a delayed reaction. I’m terrified. “I’m sorry I woke you up, I…I didn’t know what else to do.”
