Pen Pal(63)

Confused, I ask, “What are you doing?”

His only response is to pull out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“Aidan?”

“I’m taking you back to your car.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re going home.”

“I don’t understand. Why am I going home?”

When he just keeps driving silently through the rain, I say miserably, “Because that’s my punishment.”

Gazing out the windshield, he says, “I told you I’d give you what you need, which might not be what you want. Right now, what you need is space.”

My heart in my throat, I whisper, “What I need is you.”

Wincing like he’s in pain, he shakes his head. “I never want you to look back at this time and think we rushed things. I never want you to have regrets. Not about us. So we’re gonna slow it down to a crawl and take baby steps.”

“I think it’s too late for baby steps.”

He glances at me. Even in the dim of the car, his gaze is so intense, it burns like fire. When he turns back to look at the road and takes all that heat away, it leaves me freezing cold. By the time we get back to the restaurant and he parks on the street behind my car, my teeth are chattering.

Leaving the engine running, he reaches over and strokes a hand over my hair, then squeezes the back of my neck.

“Go on,” he says softly.

“Why do I feel like I’m never going to see you again?”

“Because you’re a drama queen. Now get your sweet ass out of my truck, bunny. Call me when you’ve got clarity.”

“Clarity?” Emotion makes my voice high and tight. “What does that even mean?”

He leans over, takes my face in his hands, and stares right into my eyes.

“When you’re ready to take off that wedding ring, you’ll have clarity. Until then, I’m not doing anything for you but muddying up the waters.”

He presses a firm, close-mouthed kiss to my lips. When he withdraws, he takes my heart with him.

“Now go,” he commands gruffly, staring out the windshield into the rain. “When you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

Fighting tears, my face hot and my heart throbbing, I say, “I don’t want to leave it like this.”

“I know.”

“I think we can work this out another way.”

“I don’t.”

“Aidan, please!”

“Get out of the car, Kayla.”

My lower lip trembles like a baby’s. A cry of anguish is stuck in my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I stare at Aidan’s profile, but he refuses to look at me. He just gazes out into the rain with one hand white-knuckling the steering wheel and a muscle jumping in his jaw.

It takes all of my willpower to get my hand onto the door handle. What I really want to do is fling myself at him and hang on tight, but I know it won’t get me anywhere.

Once Aidan makes up his mind, there’s no changing it.

I open the door, climb out, and stand on the curb in the rain staring at him.

He hangs his head and exhales hard. Not looking at me, he whispers hoarsely, “Goddammit, bunny. Just fucking do it.”

I swing the door shut. It closes with a hollow clang. The truck pulls away from the curb and drives off, picking up speed until it races around a corner and disappears from sight.

I turn my face to the sky, close my eyes, and let the rain slide over my cheeks to mingle with my tears.





I don’t sleep at all that night. I lie awake in bed, staring at the shadows playing on the ceiling and listening to the rain on the windowpanes, my head full of Aidan and my heart aching with his loss.

I could call him, but he wouldn’t answer. I could go to his apartment and pound on the door, but he wouldn’t open up. I could write him a letter and beg and plead, but I know all I’d get in response would be silence.

He’s doing it for me—for us—but damn, does it hurt.

The strongest medicine always tastes the most bitter.

I drag myself from bed in the morning and force myself to work. The hours pass so slowly, they feel like years. By three o’clock, I’m in such a state, I quit work for the day and head over to the building where Dr. Letterman’s practice is, determined to get an appointment.

Halfway there, I spot a sign for a psychic. On impulse, I pull to the side of the road and stop.

“Readings by Destiny!” the neon pink sign declares. It beams out from a front window of a charming yellow cottage with white trim. Taped under the sign is a rough drawing of a crystal ball floating between two hands. Stenciled beneath are the words, “Today Only, $10 Special!”

Though I suspect the poster is in the window every day, I decide ten bucks is a small price to pay to have my fortune told by a woman named Destiny.

If nothing else, it will be a fun story to tell.

Walking up the stone pathway to the front door, I hear windchimes and smell the sweet scent of burning incense. Feeling slightly foolish, I ring the bell. After a moment, the door opens to reveal a short old woman with a deeply creased face wearing a purple jogging suit with purple leather Air Jordans.

“Hi,” I say, smiling nervously. “I was just passing by and thought I’d get a reading.”