by Flynn, Avery
Yes, I am aware that I am a thirty-five-year-old woman who is sneaking out of her lover’s bedroom because she got cold feet.
Yes, I am more than aware of how pathetic that is.
No, I really don’t give a damn about my pathetic quotient right now. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about anything but getting out of here before Nick wakes up and decides we need to talk.
I have to put up with Buttercup’s kissing and dancing around me all the way to the top of the stairs. Once there, I jump to my feet before bolting down the steps two at a time. I’m so freaked out at this point that I almost make it to the front door before I remember that I’m naked. And while it’s late, it isn’t middle-of-the-night late, and somehow I bet my neighbors will freak out if it comes to light that I was streaking through the neighborhood at midnight.
Their loss, but still.
A quick search of the living room yields one of Nick’s shirts—and my phone, thankfully—and I shrug it on before racing for the door. I button two buttons, which is more than enough for decency in my book—though I’m pretty sure I lost my own decency somewhere between Nick’s bed and his bedroom door. Then I make a break for it and head straight down the driveway, across the street, up my driveway, and—force of habit—through my gate and around to my back door.
I run the whole thing as if I’m angling for a gold medal in the sprint of shame and don’t let myself slow down until my back-door handle is actually in my hand. Then and only then do I breathe a sigh of relief at finally being safe.
But as I go to open the door, I realize my sigh of relief is more than a little premature. Because my mom and sister—being two savvy women who are now living on their own in New Jersey—were smart enough, or diabolical enough, to lock the door before they went up to bed.
Fuck. My. Life.
Chapter Fifty
I text Sarah, and when that doesn’t work, I call her. But she doesn’t answer, which means I could try calling my mom, but I would honestly rather wax my bikini line myself than end this walk of shame with my mother’s raised brow. So unless I want to run back across the street to Nick’s, I am stuck out here for the rest of the night.
And since I can’t actually think of anything I want to do less than go back to Nick’s… Who knew life in the burbs could be this completely random?
With an annoyed sigh, I flounce over to one of the lounge chairs my aunt had set up around her mermaid sculpture fountain in the center of the backyard. I used to tell her she should get a pool, but she’d just take a sip of her mai tai and tell me that anyone could have a pool. It took a woman with style to have mermaids.
And she wasn’t wrong. No better site for my shameful demise, I suppose.
I pull the lounge chair several extra feet away from the sculpture’s splash zone before settling down on it for the night. The chair is still damp from the last few times the sculpture spit on it, but it’s a warm night, so it’s no big deal.
And thankfully, the lounge chair is as comfortable as I remember, so sleeping on it won’t be that big of a deal. If I can sleep, which I’m not sure I can—not when visions of that moment in the bathroom keep running through my head.
Nick’s eyes locked on mine in the mirror, his body thrusting into me, my heart falling wide open at his feet as I admit the one thing I swore to myself I would never tell another man. The one thing I swore to myself I would never let happen.
I need you.
Just the thought of having said it out loud gives me the heebie-jeebies. I can pretend it was no big deal, can pretend that I was just talking sexually, that I was just saying I needed him in that moment. It’s a valid argument—he did have me totally drunk on desire—but I know the truth. In those moments, when we were both so open, so naked, so vulnerable with each other, those three words—“I need you”—meant a whole lot more than for a simple orgasm.
They meant everything I’ve been fighting against, everything I’ve been trying to prove to myself I could do without since the divorce.
Apparently, when push comes to shove, I really have learned nothing. I’m not even fully out of from under the mess I made with Karl but determined to stand on my own two feet. Determined to build a life for myself. And within a month, I ended up totally wrapped up in another guy. And not just any guy. Nick.
He’s not having my baby, obviously, and I’m not having his, but am I really any different from Karl? Or am I just the same, hitting thirty-five and determined to give my life meaning by any means possible, including sleeping with—and worse, falling for—some guy I didn’t even know existed a month ago?
Can I get any more pathetic?
No. No, I can’t.
And now I’m going to have to come up with some reason as to why I snuck out in the middle of the night that won’t hurt his feelings or make me look like a total asshole. Then again, I left my clothes piled on his bathroom floor and my shoes kicked off under his dining room table. The ship has probably sailed on that last one. I am a total asshole.
But at least I’m an asshole whose heart is safe. And who still has a chance of building her new life the way she wants it, not the way anyone else wants it. Surely that has to count for something, right?
And honestly, after what Nick shared tonight, can he blame me? How could I possibly be in a relationship with him, knowing how fucked up I still am and what it would do to him if things ended badly? Hasn’t he been through enough agony for one lifetime? I can’t add to his pain, I just can’t. It’s better that I end things now, before he’s any more invested, than realize six months from now that I’m just not relationship material anymore.
I roll over onto my side and try to pretend that I’m not worried about being eaten alive by mosquitoes all night.
Besides, how can I ever learn to fix the mistakes I made with Karl if I jump right back into a relationship with another guy? I know Nick is nothing like Karl, but I’m still me. And I can see all the old traps looming in front of me. I’ve spent a long time blaming Karl for our divorce—and yes, he is the one who cheated on me and he is the one who’s trying so hard to screw me over financially—but I’m the one who let him do that to me.
I’m the one who gave him my power. I’m the one who spent all those years swallowing my tongue, not rocking the boat, letting him have his way because it was easier, even when I knew it was wrong.
Is that on Karl?
Hell yeah, the man is an asshole who wouldn’t know how to shoot straight if his life depended on it. But it’s also on me and I’m willing to own it. But owning it means I have to work on it. I have to solve the problem. I can’t just jump into another relationship unless I want to make the same mistakes with Nick that I did with Karl.
And I don’t. I really, really don’t.
All evidence to the contrary, though. Hell, even ordering dinner that one night, I let him choose what we ordered. I mean, yeah, I was fine with Indian, but honestly, I’d had a craving for something else. Why hadn’t I said something then? What is it about me that’s so willing to make everyone else happy over myself?
Nick deserves someone who can stand up for herself, who is treated like an equal because she is an equal. Nick deserves better than a doormat. And honestly, so do I.
Giving up on my side, I roll onto my back again and stare at the sky above me. In Manhattan, there are way too many lights on at all times to ever be able to see the stars. But out here at night, when the whole neighborhood is in bed around me, it’s hard to miss them up there.
They’re bright and beautiful and shiny, and I want nothing more than to reach up and grab one. Obviously, I know that’s impossible for about ten million different reasons—the first and foremost one being science—but knowing that doesn’t make me want to do it any less.
Aunt Maggie used to tell me falling stars were falling because they’d lost heart and that’s what made them drop out of the sky. She
warned me never to do that, made me promise to never give up, to never fall, to stay burning bright in the sky forever.
I tried, but I failed. And now, here I am, with a perfect view of the stars and no way to get back among them.
If I give up now, if I just fall for Nick, how am I ever going to find my way back to the sky—back to the stars—again? Even more important, how will I ever find my way back to myself? He’s a great guy. I have absolutely no doubts about that. But am I the great woman he needs by his side when I’m still such a work in progress?
It’s a question I’m still contemplating when the stars begin to disappear and dawn streaks across the sky. And I still have no answer. To that question or what I’m going to say when I see Nick at work again today.
Chapter Fifty-One
I wake up to the sound of a throat being cleared above me, and I freeze before I even regain consciousness, convinced Nick has found me and that I’m going to have to explain everything.
But when the throat clearing comes again, my galloping heart gets a reprieve because I would recognize that exasperated, disappointed sound anywhere.
My dad is here.
I open my eyes slowly, feeling like I passed out a minute ago. A quick glance at my phone proves the feeling isn’t completely inaccurate. It’s barely six o’clock, and I only fell asleep about an hour ago.
My dad is standing over me, arms crossed at his suited chest and a distinct frown of disapproval on his face. I brace myself for the worst when our eyes meet.
But all he says is, “Rough night?”
“You have no idea.” I sit up slowly and try to get my shit together.
Matching wits with my father is always a dangerous affair—he isn’t one of the tristate area’s best litigators for nothing—but doing it when you’re half asleep and groggy as fuck is guaranteed to be a disaster. Then again, so is showing any kind of weakness, so I refuse to shake my head or rub my eyes or do anything that will tip him off as to how tired I actually am.
“What’s up?”
“Obviously not you,” he answers acerbically. “Despite the new job your mother says you started recently.”
“Wait a minute. You talked to Mom?”
“I’ve talked to your mother every single day of our thirty-eight-year marriage. You didn’t think I was actually going to stop just because she moved out, did you?”
“Actually, that’s exactly what I thought,” I tell him. “I mean, isn’t that the point of her moving out?”
He shakes his head as he walks over to the patio table and takes two paper coffee cups out of the cupholder he must have placed there. He holds one out to me, and I nearly cry with relief as I wrap my hands around it and breathe in its heady aroma.
“For a woman who likes to pretend she has everything all worked out, you’ve still got a lot to learn,” my father says after a few seconds.
My laugh is harsh when it comes. Is he really going to lecture me on having my life together? We haven’t spoken since I learned of Sarah, so it doesn’t take long for me to dig back into that raging cesspool of hurt. “I think you’re confused. I’m the first one to admit that I have nothing worked out.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He takes a sip of his coffee as he sits down on the lounge chair next to mine and kicks up his legs. “You like to say that you don’t know what you’re doing, but the truth is you’ve made very conscious decisions that have gotten you to this point in your life, Mallory. You decided to quit law school to support Karl. You decided to help him build that law firm into what it is today without taking any credit for yourself. You decided to leave your husband without so much as consulting me before you did it—”
“So you could try to sell me on the sanctity of marriage as you see it?” I snipe before I can stop myself.
“No, so I could have helped you protect yourself. Karl is a bastard, no doubt about it, but he’s a damn good lawyer. Instead of remembering that, you went off half-cocked, and look at where that got you.”
“It’s pretty hard not to go off half-cocked,” I tell him, “when you walk in on your husband giving oral sex to another woman. It’s one of those situations designed to make people go off half-cocked.”
“Maybe so. But you should have known better. You’re the daughter of a lawyer, the wife of a lawyer. I could have helped you protect yourself.”
“Maybe I didn’t want or need your protection,” I say. “Did you ever think of that? Maybe I needed to do this on my own.”
“Which is why you’re sleeping with your new boss, right?” my dad asks, brows raised. “Who also happens to be your lawyer? Because you want to do things on your own?”
“First of all, his partner is my lawyer. And second of all, my relationship with Nick is none of your business.”
“Nothing about you is my business,” my father snaps back. “You’ve made sure of that.”
Guilt rears its ugly head, but that’s exactly what he was aiming for, so I tamp it back down. He’s the one who has made so much of this divorce so difficult for me. Is it any wonder I didn’t ask him for advice? Not to mention the fact that he’s made a pretty big mess of his own life—and my mother’s. It isn’t my fault I don’t want to end up like her.
“And you want me to apologize for that?”
“What I want is for you to listen. And to think about what I’m saying,” he says, looking more concerned than I’ve ever seen him. “Because you’re heading down a path that will lead you right back to where you were. You know that, right?”
“That’s not true,” I say. “I’m doing everything differently now.” I think about Nick and my desperate crawl out of his bedroom last night. “Maybe everything I do isn’t great,” I admit after a second. “But I’m trying—”
“Are you or are you not sleeping with your boss?” he demands, his normally steady voice rising in anger or excitement or I don’t know what. “I just don’t want you to end up single in a few years, without a reference again, and without Aunt Maggie to bail you out by giving you a house this time.”
Fury rips through me, digs into me with razor-tipped claws. “You may be my father, but it is absolutely ludicrous for you to sit there and give me life advice,” I tell him. “Considering the absolute disaster you’ve made of your life—and of my mother’s.”
“I just want you to protect yourself, Mallory—”
“The way you’ve protected yourself all these years?” I ask. “By fucking over anyone who didn’t do exactly what you wanted them to do? And even some who did. That’s the real message here, right? Nick can’t be trusted because you can’t be trusted. I can’t be trusted because all men will do what you did—”
“That’s enough, Mallory!” His voice cuts like glass.
“No,” I say, openly defying my father for the first time in a long time. “It’s not enough. You hurt my mother. You hurt Sarah. You probably hurt Sarah’s mother and you definitely hurt me with your behavior. So for you to stand there and tell me that I need to think ahead, that I need to make sure I don’t let some man hurt me again, is insulting. It’s beyond insulting.”
I put the cup of coffee he gave me back down on the table where I got it from. “And if you think I’m so bad at choosing men, if you think I’m destined to let them treat me badly and hurt me over and over again, maybe you should look at my role model,” I say. “Maybe you should ask yourself why it is I chose Karl and who he reminded me of. Believe me, if I’ve done nothing else over the last couple of weeks, I’ve figured that much out.”
By the time I’m done talking, my father looks pale. Gray even. But his eyes are the same as they’ve always been when he looks at me—filled with a cold annoyance that says he’s not really interested in anything I’m saying. More, he isn’t even really interested in me.
So when he turns on his heel and storms out of my backyard, it isn’t even a su
rprise. What is a surprise is the fact that once I’m alone, I realize that a part of me—though I am loath to admit it—knows there is some truth in what he said. And if I don’t want to make the same mistakes I already have, then I’m going to have to do something to change it.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Thank God Sarah wakes up and sees my text not long after my dad leaves, because I’ve barely sunk back down on the lounger when the door opens and my sister stands there grinning.
“Aren’t you a little old for the walk of shame?”
“Apparently you’re never too old,” I tell her as I follow her inside. “Or to get caught by your dad.”
Her eyes widen. “Dad was here?” She looks outside as if he might materialize right in front of her.
And fuck if that doesn’t make me feel more awful than I already do. “He’s an asshole.” I hate saying that about my own dad, but when it comes to Sarah, he really is. “And he shouldn’t treat you the way he does. He shouldn’t treat any of us the way he does.”
She shrugs, but the look on her face says she appreciates the acknowledgement. “Maybe that’s why we’re so messed up. Maybe we let our previous guys treat us the way they did because it’s what we were used to seeing from him. I know how he treated my mom, and I’ve guessed he treated yours pretty similarly if she’s hanging out here. It’s what we knew.”
“Maybe so,” I agree, thinking back on how many times during our marriage Karl reminded me of my dad. “But fuck that.”
She laughs. “Damn straight. I’m done begging a man for attention because my daddy wouldn’t give me his.”
“And I’m done worrying about what’s right and proper.”
“Obviously.” My sister wiggles her brows even as she reaches over and pulls one of my strands of knotted hair. “Because I’ve got to say, you’ve done the walk of shame proud this morning.”
