Maybe she’d already had too much wine if this was where her mind was going before she’d even put a single brush stroke on the page. It didn’t matter that it had been one very big gulp of wine. She was drunk on adrenaline and worry. Drunk on a future that she was afraid wouldn’t come.
Or maybe it was coming at her too fast, and she couldn’t catch her breath.
“We’re going to be fine. Just one stroke at a time.” Abby was looking toward the front as she spoke, her attention on Kaylee as their instructor started the evening with a single brush stroke. And just like that, the canvas wasn’t blank anymore. It was the start of something. The start of art? The start of the end? Or just a beginning.
It wasn’t empty.
It was something.
And Roxie needed to remember that.
The group worked together, laughing, and Roxie was able to somewhat forget her worries. It was easier to do when she was focused on trying to be better at something, something that had nothing to do with her marriage. Plus, she really just enjoyed spending time with her family and friends. It was easier to spend time with them when they weren’t asking questions, when they weren’t looking at her with pitying looks in their eyes, wondering what was going on between her and her husband. It wasn’t their fault that she was failing at most things these days. It wasn’t their fault that they wanted to help. But she didn’t even know how to ask for help. What was it that she could actually ask them anyway? Because it didn’t make any sense for her to want to ask them anything. They had their own lives. They were succeeding, where Roxie was failing. And bothering them with something that they couldn’t help with wouldn’t aid anyone.
So, Roxie had her one glass of wine and hung out with her friends and her family. She tried to pretend that everything was okay in the world. In the end, her art wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t good, but no one made fun of her for it. Hell, no one ever made fun of her art. Because that wasn’t what Brushes with Lushes was about. It didn’t matter that Roxie was competitive and hated failing. It didn’t matter that she had been the one to put all of that weight on her shoulders. It still felt like she should be able to do something better than she was.
Kaylee came over at the end and gave Roxie a hug.
“You did so well, honey.” The woman squeezed her again, and Roxie just gave her a smile.
“Thank you for pretending.”
“I wouldn’t tell you a lie. You know that, above all else. I may point you in another direction, but I would never tell you a lie. You’re getting better—not that you weren’t great to begin with. And that is not a lie, so don’t roll your eyes at me. Just because you paint differently than your sisters and aren’t a savant like I am,”—she rolled her eyes this time, and Roxie laughed—“does not mean that you are not an artist. An artist isn’t what they produce, it’s how they produce it. It’s how they feel when they do it. And, most artists hate what they’re doing as they’re doing it. In my opinion, that’s what makes good art. The loathing. The betrayal.” This time, everybody laughed with Kaylee, and Roxie just snorted.
“Overdramatic much?”
Kaylee just narrowed her eyes at Roxie. “We can discuss overdramatic later, can’t we?”
“Ouch.” Now that hurt. Because, yes, Roxie tended to be overdramatic, but mostly just in her head. Although she had a feeling that Kaylee could read minds. She didn’t know why, but the other woman always knew exactly when Roxie was in a bout of self-loathing. Even her sisters couldn’t figure that out. Mostly, they just thought that she was stressed out about something. But Kaylee always knew exactly when Roxie was freaking out about something stupid. Or maybe freaking out about something so important she wanted to make it stupid.
“On that note, I am heading home. You guys have a great night.”
They all hugged and kissed and promised they would see each other soon. And they would. They were all pretty close, some closer than others since Roxie had been pulling away for the past year. She had to do better, had to stop hiding from herself. And she would do that. After.
Everything was after.
She just had to deal with the fact that her marriage was failing. No, she had to deal with the fact that her marriage had failed.
When she got home, Carter was in his room, the door closed.
His room. Not the guest room. His room. It had only been a month, yet that’s what she thought. The fact that it was his room. They didn’t share a room anymore. They didn’t share anything anymore.
And he was better. He was so much better. He’d gone to work that day, like he had all week. Carter was mostly in the office, so that meant that he was working hours again, just not overdoing it. At least, according to Dimitri. Because she hadn’t asked. And Carter hadn’t offered the information. But him being better and working meant that he would leave soon. Or maybe she would. She didn’t need this house, didn’t need the memories of what could have been, and of what she’d let slip through her fingers. But she had a feeling that Carter would be the one to walk away. Because he was proud. But then again, so was she.
But things would change soon. The anvil was ready to fall.
And they would walk away from each other.
Because he didn’t love her. Maybe he never loved her.
And she couldn’t force him to be with her.
Not anymore.
Chapter 5
He’d never hated the idea that he was fine any more than he did just then. Carter didn’t want to be fine. He didn’t want his body to be fully healed. Because now that he could move, now that he knew he could work the long hours that he needed to, everything was going to change.
The problem was that it had already changed. It’d changed so quickly that Carter hadn’t been able to catch up, or even hold on for dear life with his knuckles going white, his fingers clinging to the shreds of what he and Roxie had had.
But now, he was healed.
And he needed to do what was right.
His doctor had cleared him, and now he sat on his bed in the guest room that wasn’t a guest room anymore and put his head in his hands.
It was time.
Putting off the inevitable would only hurt them both, and he was just so damn tired. So damn tired of waiting for the end to come when it was already there.
Valentine’s Day was in three weeks, a day that most people said was all marketing, all love and hearts and chocolate and cards, but that day did symbolize something for him and Roxie. It reminded them that what they had was probably gone because the paperwork was out, and they weren’t talking.
Roxie didn’t want to speak to him, and he didn’t know how to make her talk.
He didn’t want to wait any longer—until she told him to leave.
Because the paperwork might mean that, but she still hadn’t said the words. So, he would do it for them both. Because he wasn’t going to stay for another three weeks and wait until that holiday arrived. Wait until that day came where they had to look at one another and realize that maybe love wasn’t enough.
He rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself for thinking that. But maybe it was the truth. Maybe love wasn’t enough. Because relationships took hard work and communication, and even if he and Roxie had all of that—which they had at first—it wasn’t enough.
Lust and aching and everything that came with actually living…that made things hard.
And even though life was hard, and Carter damn well knew that, sometimes, making things easier for those you cared about was all that mattered. Because he didn’t want Roxie to hate him, and he didn’t want to start hating her. And waiting until Valentine’s Day, until the day filled with love and happiness and all that crap wouldn’t work. He knew he couldn’t do it.
He let out a sigh and stood up, taking a look around the room that had become his after coming home from the hospital. The only time he’d gone upstairs recently was when Roxie wasn’t at the house, and he needed to get a few things from the master.
The thing was, tho
ugh, most of his clothes and other stuff was down here now. He didn’t own much, and frankly, neither did Roxie, but what Carter had, was mostly with him now. So, it was depressingly easy to pack it all up into a couple of duffels and set them by the end of the bed.
He’d come back for more—or maybe he wouldn’t. Perhaps he’d leave it all here. Just like he’d leave most of himself.
Jesus Christ, he didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to walk away from what he thought he wanted. But, the thing was, he wasn’t wanted.
And he didn’t want to stay where he would be in the way.
Roxie wanted a divorce.
So, he’d give her one.
He let out a breath and picked up his bags, thankful that his body didn’t ache, and the scars on his legs didn’t pull too badly. Of course, the wounds on his heart hurt like hell, but he was going to ignore those and not think about what might happen next.
He would give Roxie what she wanted, what she needed, and he’d figure out what to do with the rest of his life.
He’d married the woman he loved. Married her because of circumstances that had put them together, but also because he wanted her in his life. When what they’d thought they had changed, he’d tried to hold on.
It hadn’t worked.
And now it was time to deal with the consequences of those actions.
Roxie would be home any minute from work because she’d been bringing her work home with her these days. Yes, she worked late hours since it was tax season, and this was always her busiest set of months, but instead of working at the office until she missed dinner like she usually did, she’d been coming home.
For him.
He might have thought that was a sign that maybe they could work things out, but she was so closed off from him—and if he were honest with himself, he was just as closed off from her—that he didn’t think it was truly a sign at all.
Carter walked out of the house, careful not to look at anything too closely on the way or he’d get distracted, and she’d see the bags first before he could explain about his plans. Yes, he might have seen the papers first before she had a chance to tell him about them, but he wouldn’t do the same to her. Now that he wasn’t gut-punched, he could think clearly and know that she hadn’t let him find out that way on purpose.
The two of them didn’t hurt one another like that. That wasn’t their thing.
The problem was, they didn’t have a thing. Not anymore.
That was one of their problems anyway. Honestly, they had too many to count, and they all revolved around the one subject they didn’t talk about. The thing that neither of them wanted to mention.
And because Carter’s stomach hurt just thinking about it, he pushed those thoughts away like he always did and put his bags into the cab of his truck before she got home. He’d talk to her in the house where she would feel safe and not have the evidence of his leaving thrust in her face. Not to mention, he’d need an easy exit, and him putting on a show of gathering his belongings would just prolong the inevitable pain that he knew would rip through him when he closed that door behind him for the final time.
He couldn’t believe it had come to this. It shouldn’t have come to this. And yet he had no idea what he was supposed to do about it. Roxie wanted a divorce, had wanted it for some time if her actions were any indication. Now, he was just going to have to find a way to move on.
Find a way to move forward and not get sick or lose himself in the end.
Carter walked back into the house and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He was going to miss this place, even with the memories of the silence and aching looks and fears of what to do next. Roxie had bought the house before she met him and had already been living here by the time they got engaged. She hadn’t fully decorated it until he moved in because she’d been busy with work and had said that she didn’t like not knowing what to do to make it look the way she wanted.
She always put herself down when it came to art or what she perceived was her sisters’ and brother’s area of talent. He’d tried to stop that, had tried to tell her that she had depth and talent in those areas as well, but she hadn’t taken his words to heart. Or maybe she was so deep into thinking she couldn’t do certain things that nothing he said would have made it better. He’d tried to show her how talented she was in how they made the place their own, but he didn’t think it had stuck.
The fact that she tortured herself with Brushes with Lushes like she did just told Carter that she was going to try her best to find talent where she didn’t think she had any. The thing was, though, she did have talent. In so many damn things. But she refused to see it.
And Carter hadn’t known how to help her do that.
And now he was going to leave, and he wouldn’t be able to even try anymore.
Why did that thought hurt more than it should?
The door opened behind him, and he turned on his heel to see Roxie standing there, her eyes wide and her bag in her hand. She looked so damn pretty. Always did, and he knew she always would. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun thing that he thought she called a chignon or something. She had on makeup that appeared natural, but he knew she took time to make it come across that way. He loved the way she looked with it and without it. She had a way to make her eyes pop, her lips do the same. But he also loved when she was freshly scrubbed and all dewy. Or when she was up too late and telling him that she felt like garbage. He loved the way she looked then, too.
He just loved her.
This was going to hurt far more than the burns on his legs.
“Carter? Is everything okay? I didn’t expect you to be standing right there when I walked in.” She cleared her throat, closed the door behind her, and set her bag on the table in the entryway. The same table where he’d first seen the papers. The one they’d bought together at a flea market and had tried to sand and make look professional. It was a sad state of what they could do and it had worn down in places that were now covered up by antique-looking lanterns. If they put too much weight on it, it wobbled, and he was pretty sure one of the metal parts on the bottom wasn’t attached correctly.
But it was theirs. Something they had built together. And something that was a pretty damn good symbol of who they were, wasn’t it?
He was the one that cleared his throat. “Roxie.”
She blinked, clasping her hands in front of her, a shield that she brandished when she was nervous. One that she put up against him.
He hated this.
Hated himself.
But it needed to be done.
“I’m all healed, Rox. The doctor gave me the go-ahead to go back to my normal hours at the shop, and my PT is still going, but I’m doing okay health-wise.”
She nodded. “You’ve been doing so well.”
He nodded back, feeling awkward as hell. His hands were still in his pockets, safe there so he didn’t reach out and try to touch her. He missed the feel of her skin, missed the way she used to lean into him when he cupped her face.
But he couldn’t do that. Not anymore. And he had to be the stronger person in order to make sure that happened. Because if he took a step toward her, he’d break when she stepped away. Because they weren’t who they needed to be. He wasn’t the man she needed. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.
“I don’t know what to do next, Rox. And because of that, I’m going to go. I’ll sign the papers when the time comes.” His mouth went dry, his hands turning sweaty. “I’m going to go,” he repeated. “This was your house first, Roxie. I’m not going to take it from you. I’ll be at Landon’s for a bit, and then I’ll figure out where to go next.”
He looked into her eyes then, willing her to speak, hoping she’d tell him not to leave. But she didn’t. She didn’t say a damn thing, and he knew he was lost. All was lost. And he had no idea what the fuck to do next.
“I have a couple bags in the truck, and I’ll probably be back for more soon. Or whatever. I don’t know. But I’m going to go.” He kept
saying those words. He hated them.
“Whatever you need, Carter.” Her voice was so calm, so smooth.
Why couldn’t she break like he was?
Then again, he really wasn’t breaking, was he? If he were, he’d have told her that he didn’t want to leave, that he wanted to stay and work this out. But he didn’t know what there was left of them to work out.
Jesus Christ, he was leaving his wife.
Leaving because she’d taken the first step with those papers.
And he wasn’t going to stay and make her hurt. Wasn’t going to remain and make himself do the same.
“I guess…I guess we’ll talk soon.”
She gave him a tight nod before she finally took a step to the side, then another. Moving out of his way so he could make it to the door. Moving so he could leave.
Neither of them fought.
Why weren’t they fighting?
He made his way to the door, pausing right beside her. They stood next to each other, him facing the door, and her facing the rest of the house, but neither of them faced the other.
“I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and then she walked away, her steps quick as she practically ran upstairs.
And he let her go. Because she was sorry.
And the thing was, so was he.
It was just too late for either of them to do anything about it.
So, he walked out the door, made his way to his truck, and left the house he’d finally found a home in. Left the wife he loved yet didn’t know if she loved him back. Left the life he’d thought he made.
Left it all because she’d asked.
Jagged Ink: A Montgomery Ink: Colorado Springs Novel Page 5
