Staying For You Page 11

  For the past few years, though, my time spent with Gretchen was only discussing my lackluster writing or failed marriage. Not exactly uplifting or light conversation. The thing is, I know that a lot of it was because she loves me and cares. She truly wants the best for me and believes in me. However, focusing all our attention on my failures has not been good for my self-esteem.

  “You think I’m down to earth?” I eventually ask.

  Liv’s eyes soften. “Yes. Not for one minute did I think you’re high maintenance, if that’s what you’re asking. Don’t even think that. And honestly, I know my brother and he doesn’t think that, either. He’s a better judge of character than that.”

  “It’s just… my ex. He messed with my head, I suppose. He threw words like that around to describe me for years.” When the person who’s supposed to always love and know you better than anyone else uses certain words to define you, it’s hard not to believe there’s some truth to it, no matter what kind of a jackass that person is.

  “Well, it’s a good thing his title is now ex, if you ask me.”

  Tears spring to my eyes and I agree with her, though I find it hard to speak.

  The thing is, getting divorced feels like a failure. At one point, the love was strong enough to commit ourselves to one another in front of an entire sanctuary full of our family and friends. It’s hard not to believe his insults. The lies he told me constantly to belittle myself.

  “Can I ask you something? And I realize this is probably overstepping but I really don’t have a lot of a filter anymore so I’m just going to ask it.”

  “Go ahead. If I don’t want to answer, I just won’t.”

  Liv laughs. “I like you. Okay, when did your marriage start heading south?”

  “You mean, was it around the time my books started sucking?”

  She gasps then Chloe quickly corrects her. “No! That’s not what she meant!”

  “Um, kind of is, actually. Not sucking, so much, but yeah, you were going through some shit, huh?”

  “It’s okay. My best friend, Gretchen, is the most honest person with me. I’m also pretty aware of myself and my abilities. My last two books were subpar. I’m here to get back what I lost.”

  The two women share a look that doesn’t go unnoticed. “What?”

  “Are you here to write?”

  “I never stop writing. I’ll be in the grocery store and have a scene hit me out of nowhere and I have to get it down before I forget. But right now, I’m just taking it in. Reminding myself who I am and why I fell in love with writing in the first place.”

  “Are you finding inspiration?” Liv asks.

  “I am.” I don’t expand on that. For now, it’s for me and me alone. They’re not stupid. I’m sure they’re figuring out that in the short amount of time I’ve known Owen, he has given me inspiration in so many ways. From his thoughtfulness and the way he is with his niece and nephew, maybe my next book will be about a single dad or maybe even an uncle who takes care of his family as if they’re his own after his brother or sister is tragically killed in an accident.

  Soon the wheels are turning in my head and I can’t stop my fingers from twitching, flexing and stretching them as if they’re getting ready for a big few days.

  “Wow. That was crazy,” Chloe says, awe in her voice.

  “What? What was crazy?”

  “You just wrote a book in your head, didn’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  The girls smile at me, then Liv lifts her glass. The three of us clink them together and Liv toasts simply, “To new beginnings.”

  We all take a sip and I relax a little more. To new beginnings. How fitting in so many ways.

  * * *

  Owen’s family left three days ago. I haven’t heard or seen anything out of Owen since he left the cabin that day the girls and I polished off two bottles of wine.

  The next morning, I cracked open my laptop and sat staring at a blank document, cursor blinking at me to remind me of the new beginning we toasted to the afternoon before. Only, unlike the day before, the words and ideas weren’t pouring out of me. After sitting at the table for two hours, fingers unable to type even a single letter, I slammed the lid shut and went outside to get some fresh air.

  I bundled up and walked up and down the same path Owen and I took when he invited me to go for a walk with the kids. The brisk cold air may have been so brutal that my face hurt, but I was no longer putting pressure on myself to write.

  When I got back to the cabin, I found a text message on my phone from Liv. The three of us had exchanged numbers before they left but if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t see myself ever using theirs. Not because I didn’t like them. Quite the opposite. They’re women I could see myself being friends with for years.

  Ethan and Rex finally came down to the cabin to retrieve their wives about six o’clock that evening. Conversation flowed between us, neither of them holding back on telling me the story of their pasts, how they met Ethan and Rex. The fact that Ethan and Chloe are half-siblings but never knew the other existed until recently was a little mind blowing. And Liv had met Ethan once before they became an item. But, in her words, she was sister-zoned by Owen making sure that Ethan stayed away.

  Their love stories might be somewhat unique and a little confusing, but their love was a healthy reminder of possibilities. Just because Scott and I didn’t work out, that the love we once shared wasn’t an epic sort of love story you hoped to one day tell your grandchildren, doesn’t mean it’s not out there for me, waiting for me to be ready. But the question is, will I ever be ready? I’m honestly not sure. I’d like to think I am.

  I click save for the thousandth time on my document, force of habit, and stand up, stretch, and walk the few steps it takes me to get to the kitchen to refill my coffee. Just as I’m putting the creamer back in the fridge, a knock sounds at the door and my pulse spikes.

  I know who it is. There’s only one option as to who it could be. The knowledge makes me both excited and nervous.

  When I open the door to see him standing there, looking every bit sexy lumberjack, I have to hold back the sigh that wants to squeak out. Damn, he’s so freaking good looking.

  And when he smiles, it transforms his entire face. Little lines crease next to his eyes and a really tiny dimple pops in his cheek. It’s barely there, though. Hardly noticeable unless you’re staring, which I’m doing.

  I haven’t seen Scott in weeks and don’t miss him. I went three days without seeing Owen, the last time we spoke he had to apologize several times for being an ass, and I still feel like I can breathe easier just being in his presence.

  This isn’t good. As he made clear, I’m temporary. He knows it. I know it. But my heart? My libido? They’re both shouting at me to climb this man like a monkey, wrap my legs around his waist, and hold on tight.

  But not until he explains the crap he spewed at his place a few days ago. Or the fact that he stayed away from me for three days. Sure, I could have gone to him but I learned my lesson. I spent eight years catering to a man’s needs and desires, putting my own on the back burner.

  I won’t lose myself to another person like that again. I love myself too much for that.

  “I have a list,” he blurts out.

  “Pardon?”

  “A list. Of the reasons why you’re nothing like what I said you were. I’ve been adding to it the last three days.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and narrow my eyes. “A list, huh?”

  He nods, visibly swallows, then asks if he can come in. I stretch my arm out in silent invitation and close the door behind him.

  Just like earlier, having him here in the cabin makes it feel like the size of a cracker jack box. He brought along with him the enticing aroma of winter and his spicy body wash along with a little hint of saw dust like he’d been chopping wood before he came down to my cabin.

  Of course he was.

  My vagina doesn’t stand a chance against him.

/>   He bends over, removing his snow-covered boots, and I watch as his fingers work to untie the laces. His nails are short – almost too short, as if he bites them. There are a few small scars on the backs of his hands and when he moves in the right way, I can see callouses on his palms. The hands of a working man. I bet he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if I asked him to go get a mani-pedi with me – or even know the first place to send me if I asked him for a recommendation for a local place. Certainly wouldn’t be a regular like Scott was.

  When he stands, I offer to take his coat and he hands it over. I drape it over the back of one of the chairs and point to the other end of the couch, sitting down where I was earlier with my legs criss-crossed.

  “What’s up?” I finally ask when he hasn’t said anything else.

  He leans back, extends an arm over the back of the couch, and crosses his right leg over his left. I did a study on human behavior between books nine and ten and what their mannerisms mean but also how they sit when they’re nervous. He doesn’t appear nervous or on edge, rather relaxed and confident. “The list.”

  “Yes, I heard mention of a list.”

  He smirks and I blink, looking as innocent as I can manage. I’m so curious about the list, if I saw it sitting in his hands I’d rip it away from him, letting my eyes feast on it. Did he handwrite it? Would I get to see his manly penmanship? Or would he have just jotted it down in the notes app of his phone? How long is it? But most importantly, WHAT DOES IT SAY?

  I’m the picture of calm, cool, and collected even though inside me is screaming to know the truth. What does Owen I don’t know his last name think of me?

  “Would you like to see the list?”

  I shrug. Not a care in the world. Show me the list or not, I don’t care either way. I promise. Now I should probably check to make sure my pants aren’t on fire after lying to myself.

  “Sure,” I finally admit halfheartedly.

  He smirks again. He knows I’m a liar but I won’t come clean. He doesn’t need to hear that I’m curious. What human being wouldn’t be? It’s not as if what he said was even that bad. It just… triggered something inside me. Brought up ugly memories and I was in a good and happy place. Content in no longer worrying over my turd of an ex-husband. Life was good. Then the same words that hurt me so deeply once upon a time, punctured a part of me that I’d sutured long ago. It wasn’t just a sting. It was a throbbing, gaping ugly gash. Owen reopened old wounds without knowing it.

  He digs in his front pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.

  He wrote them down.

  By hand.

  Wow.

  “Here’s the deal.” He leans forward, holding the folded piece of paper in his hands. He’s looking down at it rather than at me.

  “Before I hand this over to you, I want you to know something about myself.” He raises his head and turns, looking me straight in the eye. His hazel eyes are so vibrant, unique. Green flecks throughout with a rim around the outside that’s so dark, it’s almost black. But there’s a quality I see in them — sadness, maybe? I’m not sure if that’s it exactly.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not that person. The one you heard in the hallway, I mean. If anything, that’s about as opposite of who I am as I can get. I know what I said about you was wrong. I also know it was uncalled for and rude. I do apologize. It’s not the way I see you. A big part of me was protecting myself.”

  “From?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” My question comes out barely above a whisper.

  He blows out a breath and sits back against the couch, slouching down so his head is level with the top of the cushion. He lolls his head to the side so he’s facing me and his eyes look almost golden. “I don’t open myself up to people easily. Or, actually, that’s not entirely true. It’s not that it’s not easy for me, it’s that I make no effort to do so.” Owen’s finger does a little circle around him, pointing out the cabin we’re sitting in. I get his meaning. He likes being alone in the woods.

  “So why were you protecting yourself from me?”

  “Because I’ve only known you a few days and I like you. Of course, you’re beautiful,” he grins at me and my heart goes thump, thump, thump at him calling me beautiful, “but,” dammit, I knew there was a but coming, “it’s not only about that. You’re giving and selfless and kind and thoughtful and… you’re only here for a short time.” First time in the history of ever the word but is a good thing. “This is probably the most unprofessional thing I could ever say to a guest.” He shakes his head at himself.

  I let his praises settle. The fact that he sees me as selfless and thoughtful alone is enough to make my chest swell with pride. But he also called me beautiful and that’s something I haven’t heard in… well, years. The last time Scott and I went on a date, I stared at myself in the mirror, thinking this was it. If he didn’t say anything about how I looked that night or act like I was an important part of his world, I knew we were done.

  “Are you ready yet?” Scott calls up the stairs, annoyance already heavy in his voice. He makes sure to add in a sigh and not so muffled curse to really drive his point home.

  I know he doesn’t want to go out tonight but I need it. I haven’t had a night out of the house in so long, I think my ass has a permanent indentation on the chair. He leaves every day, rarely eats a meal in our home, actually. For him, this is nothing special.

  I look at myself in the mirror one more time. I somehow perfected a smoky eye, after watching YouTube tutorials for a few hours, that is. My hair is silky and curled in big waves. My skin is glowing and there’s not a single hair on my body that shouldn’t be there. Turning to the side, I take in my little red dress. It was a bold move when I decided to wear it tonight, but I need the courage and this fit and flair dress makes my waist look small and my breasts perky and full. Plus. It has pockets.

  “I’m coming!” I shout, applying a coat of gloss over my matching red lips.

  I run a hand down my stomach that just unleashed a flood of butterflies and blow out a breath.

  I look amazing, if I do say so myself.

  This is the first date we’ve had in fourteen months and twenty-two days.

  It’s been a while, obviously.

  But it’s our anniversary and we didn’t celebrate last year.

  I miss that feeling I would get when I would walk in the room and my husband saw nothing but me. I miss knowing that he would be fighting against himself to find a quiet spot for just the two of us to ravish each other.

  He wasn’t always so… unaware of me. Sure, he’s always been a selfish man and had very little ambition in life, which sounds terrible coming from his wife. But it’s not entirely his fault. Scott’s never had to work for anything of his own and it shows. For some reason, I always overlooked those faults because as far as showing me affection? He excelled at that. I knew he was attracted to me, he was never shy about his desire to be next to me, touch me affectionately.

  I leave the bathroom off our bedroom and head down the stairs.

  He’s waiting at the door, head bent as he types away on his phone.

  I pause halfway down, wondering if he’ll turn and look at me. If he’ll say that I look beautiful and wonder how he’s going to get through the evening staring at me from across the table. Or maybe he’ll ask for a booth and not be able to stop his hands from sliding up my thigh and maybe even discover that I’m not wearing panties.

  My heart beat picks up and I bite my bottom lip as I continue down the stairs.

  Tonight is going to be so much fun. At least I hope it is. Actually, it’s a pipe dream to wish for it to be fun, but I’m laying it all out there. Besides, I’m so ready for some downtown action. My word, if my vibrator could talk, it’d be begging for a break from being overworked.

  We need this. If we can’t rekindle the love we once shared, I know it’s over. Our marriage has been on a thin line for so long.

  Then I stutter to a s
top right before I hit the bottom step. I hadn’t paid attention to what he was wearing.

  Black jogger sweatpants. High-top Jordan sneakers. And a black hoodie.

  Where does he think we’re going? I thought we had reservations at Fleming’s. It’s the hottest, admittedly incredibly expensive but worth every penny, steakhouse in the entire state of Tennessee.

  “I’m ready,” I say quietly.

  He doesn’t glance up from his phone when he slides a flat bill ball cap on his head backward and grumbles, “Finally.”

  I follow him to the door that leads into the garage, my heels clicking against the hardwood. My hands clench my leather clutch so tightly that my knuckles are turning white.

  He opens the door and walks through it, not considerate enough to hold it open for me. Scott still hasn’t noticed me or paid attention to how much effort I put into tonight while he looks like he’s ready to go to IHOP.

  I wanted answers and I suppose I’m getting them.

  He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t even see me anymore. I’m no longer a factor in his life. I don’t matter to him, I’m simply a nuisance but one he puts up with because I earn the money he enjoys spending.

  But knowing all this doesn’t mean I’ll stand to be treated with such disrespect and disregard anymore.

  I’m done.

  Over it.

  Over him.

  Over a loveless marriage.

  I deserve more and it’s time he knows that.

  When we get to the garage, he’s already sitting in the driver’s seat of his pretentious little two-seater car, still staring at his stupid phone like he’s a teenager who can’t look away from Snapchat for a second in case they miss something. He thinks he’s such a cool guy. He’s not. He’s a freaking douche. In this moment, I feel hatred toward my husband and I haven’t let myself go there yet.

  I walk past his car and directly to mine. I get inside, push the button to open the garage door, start up my small SUV, and don’t give him a second glance as I back out of the garage and go out for a five-star dinner alone.