Every Wrong Reason(82)

But I couldn’t listen to what he had to say either. I couldn’t go through that just because my boobs were everywhere.

“We’re in the middle of a divorce!” I pointed out. “We have mediation in three days, Nick! What were we thinking?”

“Maybe we thought the divorce was a stupid idea. Maybe we thought we couldn’t keep our hands off each other!”

I sucked in a gasping breath and swayed with dizziness. I couldn’t… I couldn’t grasp his words. I couldn’t make them concrete thoughts and ideas in my head. They danced in the air outside of my reach, taunting me... laughing at me.

“Is that what you think?” I asked breathlessly. For a second I thought I might faint. I shook my head, desperate to find my senses. “Do you think the divorce is a stupid idea?”

His shoulders fell with defeat. “It was your idea, I… I just…”

My emotions took a sickening twist and my head spun again. “You’re blaming me?” Hot tears pushed against my lashes. “This is my fault?”

“I’m not blaming you,” he stated firmly. “I’m just trying to think. God, Kate, there are times when I think you hate me. When I think you would do anything to get rid of me. And then… then there’s last night. And all of the other times like it. I have never been more alive than when I’m with you.”

I sat up straighter. “Nick, you’re still blaming me. I’m the reason we’re getting a divorce. I’m the reason we don’t work! I’m the reason your life is miserable or not miserable or I don’t know what! Was last night all my fault too?”

He abruptly sat up. The blanket fell to his lap, hiding his important bits but exposing inches of smooth, muscled skin. His tousled chestnut hair fell over his forehead as he leaned into me. He had never been more beautiful, an angry Adonis rampaging for vengeance.

“I’m not blaming you for everything. I’m… I’m trying to make sense of this. And I need you to figure out what the hell you want. Is it me, Kate? Or is it this?” His arm flung wide, gesturing at the room. “Without me?”

“We’re in the middle of a divorce,” I repeated, but this time it was broken. This time it held the years of pain and hurt and heartache. “We’re in the middle of a divorce.”

He jumped from the bed as if it burned him to share the same space as me. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.” He gave me his back and naked bum and tore into the closet. I watched in horror as he opened drawers, then slammed them closed.

Tears streaked down my face, wetting the sheets I held tightly around my torso. “What are you doing?”

“Going home,” he growled. “Then I’m going to shower. Then I’m going to work.” His eyes flashed to mine, searing me from where he yanked on old running shorts. “What are you doing?”

“Nick,” I sobbed. He waited. He stood there in his shorts and tousled hair, his jaw ticking with anger and pain and scars that I gave him, scars that I ripped open, and he waited for me to say what it was I wanted to say. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

I winced with frustration. “For this.” I waved at the room. “For the divorce.” I sniffled back a flood of tears. “For last night.”

He stalked into the room, his feet moving with determination and his body so filled with tension I felt it vibrating off him in waves. He hovered over the edge of the bed. I could smell him. I could almost touch him. His voice pitched low and serious. “I’m not sorry,” he declared. “Not for any of it.”

He gave me one more scorching glare, then turned around and left. His loud footsteps took the stairs at a clipped pace. There was silence for a minute and I could picture him yanking on the rest of his clothes. Then the door opened and slammed behind him.

I was alone-truly alone. And all I wanted to do was chase him down and drag him back to my room. I wanted to lock him in here until these feelings went away, until this fissure in my heart stopped tearing me apart.

I broke down and cried after that. I cried for a very long time. Then I called into work, explaining about my dog, but not about my husband.

Then I lay down again and cried all the way through my birthday.

Eventually, the vet called. Annie made it through the night. She was going to be okay.

But even Annie’s good news couldn’t soften the blow to my heart or the eclipsing truth that I’d made a very big mistake.

If only I could figure out which of my mistakes was the right one to regret.

Last night?

Or the divorce…?





Chapter Twenty-Three


30. I can’t let him go.




Three days later, on the morning of our next mediation, I prayed for the flu.

When I did not immediately start puking, I prayed for an earthquake. When that didn’t work, I prayed for a tornado. Then an alien invasion.

And finally, a zombie plague.

Then I decided I should probably stop wishing thousands of people had to die just so I could skip seeing Nick again.

It wasn’t that I wanted thousands of people to die or a zombie pandemic to sweep the globe. Not really. I just thought, maybe it was more favorable than coming face-to-face with a man that was so pissed off at me, I felt like my entire house needed cleansing.