Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men's Club #1)(57)

“What is it?”

I move closer, and Payne hands over the paperwork he’s holding.

Divorce papers.

With a note clipped to the front saying, I won’t do this unless it’s in person.

“That fuck!”

“Uncle Bo-Bo said a bad word,” Soph says in the doorway.

Lizzy crosses her arms. “Sometimes those bad words are needed—when you’re an adult. Go and play with your sister.”

Soph looks from her mom to Marty to Payne. Then she darts across the room and climbs into his lap.

His back stiffens for a second before he wraps an arm around her. “Thanks, sweetie. I’m okay now.”

She doesn’t leave though.

It’s taking all of my self-control not to go on a rant. “When did you last see him?” I ask.

“Before … before it all went down.”

“You haven’t since?”

“Nope. I stayed at a friend’s place in Boston and made it clear that if he came near me at work, I’d let the school know about his extracurricular activities.”

“Why the fu—why now? What’s his game plan here?”

“I have no idea.”

“Are you going to do it?” Marty asks.

“I … I don’t know.” Payne pinches his nose.

“You could ignore it,” I suggest. “There’s no rush here. Give it a bit of time, and once there’s some distance, it might be easier then.”

“I don’t want anything tying me to that … man.”

It’s lucky he has Soph to hug because otherwise I probably would have folded him in my arms already. He looks so lost, staring at the paper and Kyle’s stupid note, and I want to fix it. To make it better. I can’t do that here, and it sucks that literally no one in this room knows what he means to me.

Not Marty, not Payne, not Lizzy, and fuck, sometimes not even me.

The thing about loving someone is you don’t get to do it with conditions attached. I don’t love him, expecting him to return it. I don’t love him, hoping I’ll get over it, or that I can transfer that love to someone else.

I just love him.

I’m starting to realize that maybe that’s enough. It’s not the easiest option, but it’s the one that makes me happy.





23





Payne


“Turn into this driveway up here,” Beau says.

I don’t question him, just switch on my turn signal and follow his instructions. It’s a gravel driveway, and Beau tells me to keep going all the way to the end. “Where are we?”

“Don’t worry, no one lives here. This block has been for sale for months.” He unclips his seat belt, then whacks my thigh for me to do the same.

I have no idea what we’re doing here.

I want to go home, face-plant on my bed, and ignore the world for the rest of the day.

Beau’s waiting for me in front of the car, and when I reach him, he immediately steps forward and wraps me in his arms. Like that, some of the stress loosens its hold.

My hands find his lower back, and I tilt my face down to smile into his shoulder. “What’s this?”

“You looked like you could use it.”

“You’re not wrong.”

His fingers play with the hair at the back of my neck, and neither of us moves for a long moment. Holding him close, breathing him in, it settles me like nothing else can. He’s quickly becoming my rock, and I wish I could be the same for him.

When he loosens his hold, I let him go reluctantly.

Then look around.

The driveway has a dense wood pressing on one side and a large open paddock on the other. More trees cut off the view of the road we were just on, and the land goes past another tree line and toward the mountains a half mile away.

“Want to go for a walk?” Beau asks, nodding toward the field.

“Are we allowed?”

He grins and heads toward the timber fence separating the driveway from the paddock. “Who’s going to stop us?”

Good point.

Apart from the occasional car passing back on the road, it feels cut off from the rest of Kilborough, like it’s a secret oasis away from the always busy town center. Birds call to each other from the trees, dragonflies skip over the longish grass, and when we round the second tree line, we find a pond with ducks lazily drifting across the surface.

“I didn’t even know this place was here,” I say. It’s nice. Calming.

“I’ve never been here before.” Beau holds up his hand in a wave, and I turn to see what’s caught his attention. A man’s sitting outside a small stone cottage.

“Shit,” I mutter. “I thought you said no one lives here?”

“I think that’s Trent Briller. Come on.”

We cross the distance to the cottage, and when the man stands, he does look vaguely familiar. He’s around our age with a thick beard and a broad hat planted on his head.

“Hey, Beau.” His eyes squint up kindly. “What brings you around here?”

“Sorry, I thought the place was empty. We just needed to get outside for a bit.”

“It’s a good place for it.” Trent extends a hand to me. “I think I’ve seen your face, but …”