Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(49)

I stood up to let Max lie down. Kali took the corner where Molly had been sitting. When they were both covered with blankets and the television was on quietly, I followed Molly back to the bedroom, closing the door behind us.

“We can’t do this to them, Finn. Not again.”

“I know.” I rubbed my jaw. “Ready or not, we have to stop.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, leaving a space for me to sit too. With our thighs touching, I put a hand between us, palm up. She instantly put hers palm down, threading our fingers together.

“It was always going to end, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“Neither am I,” she whispered. “Maybe this was the ending we should have had all along. The one we missed because we were too busy being angry and bitter and hurt. I like this ending much better.”

“So do I.”

We sat together, hands clasped, until it was time to break apart. When she attempted to pry her fingers loose from mine, I didn’t let go at first. But she wiggled them again and I had no choice. When she stood and walked to the bathroom, I felt it again.

The hole.

It had been gone for the last month, temporarily filled.

I stood from the bed and went to the bathroom door to say good-bye. I pushed it open a crack. In the shower, Molly’s shoulders were hunched forward, shaking.

She was crying.

Fuck, but I wanted to hold her. I wanted to promise that it would be okay. We’d figure it out together.

But we’d tried that once. I’d made those promises when we’d been married and hadn’t kept a single one.

So I backed away, closing the door to just a crack so she wouldn’t think I’d been watching.

“I’m going to take off,” I called.

“O-okay.”

“Bye.” I closed the door and sagged against the frame. Then I did what I should have done last night. I left.

Everything about it felt wrong. I was leaving Molly in tears. Max was sick on the couch. Kali had retreated into her own world, barely saying a word as I kissed her good-bye.

I didn’t drive home but to work instead, wearing yesterday’s clothes. If I went home, I’d shower. I didn’t want to shower, not when Molly’s scent lingered on my skin.

I was the first to arrive at Alcott. My truck was parked alone in front of the office, like it had been many, many mornings. Before I got out to go inside, a memory hit me hard.

When Max was one, he’d gotten sick with a summer cold. Molly got it too. She was miserable and asked if I could stay home for the day to entertain Kali. I left for work instead, leaving her to handle the kids alone. I parked alone that morning too. What I should have done all those years ago was turn around. Or better yet, not left in the first place.

“Goddamn it,” I cursed at the steering wheel.

I was making the same mistakes over again, except today was different. I couldn’t go back to Molly’s and fix this. If I went back, I would just make it worse and confuse the kids even more.

So I went inside the office and turned on my computer. I worked unfocused and angry, wondering how many other mistakes I’d made, knowing there had been many.

I stared at design plans for a project, the lines and words blurring together. Work, my constant companion, wasn’t such good company today. This wasn’t my refuge anymore. I couldn’t solve this problem by working harder.

I’d always thought that if Alcott was successful, it would give me more freedom to help at home. It would ensure that Molly and the kids would be fine if anything ever happened to me. If I died, they’d be set for life.

Goal attained. Alcott was successful, whether I was at the helm or not.

And it had cost me everything. It had cost me my wife.

Something I’d realized a bachelorette party and one-night stand too late.





Eleven





Molly





Finn and I kept our distance from one another the week after the kids found us together. We retreated to our post-divorce routine, where the kids were at his house or mine and with only one parent present. Our only time spent together was when we were making the switch.

The universe must have known I couldn’t handle another letter because I hadn’t gotten one all week. I didn’t have the energy to relive the past or the courage to talk about the way things had been.

It was better this way, the single way.

It was better to focus on the now. Finn and I were not in love. That love was history.

The kids had been in off moods all week—no surprise there. Max had recovered quickly from his twenty-four-hour stomach bug and had spent the rest of the week at camp. He’d been quiet all week, his smiles rare. Kali’s had been nonexistent. She’d been so excited for camp, but because she was angry and confused, she went each day with a bad attitude. I felt awful for the counselors.

Because it was all my fault.

I’d gotten lost in memories. I’d let those letters cloud the reality of my situation. I’d gotten swept up, for the second time in my life, by Finn.

I wouldn’t think of my affair with Finn as wrong. It had felt so good to be touched, caressed, kissed . . . wanted. But I would think of it as reckless.

Having the kids catch us had been sobering. Mostly, I didn’t want Kali to think less of me. I didn’t want my daughter to grow up thinking I was at her father’s disposal. That wasn’t how Finn treated me. I knew that. But did she?