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I do. I love him madly. That much is real.
But I don’t believe in the notion of soul mates. If such a thing exists, I haven’t found it. I hate the thought of that. Because if soul mates are real, that means mine is out there somewhere, undiscovered, fucking someone else, loving someone else, and living another life without me.
I can’t bear it.
When the front door shuts this time, it doesn’t feel like a knife. But my heart clenches all the same.
Monty said some of the right things. He apologized. But he didn’t grovel. More importantly, he didn’t convince me he would be a good father.
He didn’t agree to be a father at all.
I’ll wait for him to return, and we’ll have that conversation.
Until then, I’ll hope for the best and prepare myself for the worst.
3
Frankie
—
Monty may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
God knows I’ve dated enough men to make that determination. No one can compete with his potent cocktail of confidence, intelligence, and irresistible good looks. More than that, I’ve never been loved the way my husband loves me.
But Jesus Christ, he’s stubborn. What if he doesn’t pull his head out of his ass? Can I actually walk away from him? Am I brave enough?
I don’t know.
I clench my jaw.
Yes. For this baby, I’ll be brave and strong and whatever else I have to be.
Over the course of the day, I try to remain positive. Everything will be okay bangs in my head as my sneakers pound the trails around the island. I wish it weren’t my day off. I’d rather be at work, channeling this erratic energy into saving lives.
My breaths punch the frosty air in clouds of white vapor. Water drizzles into my eyes. Puddles explode beneath my feet. I love to run, but not in the rain. Every droplet pierces my skin like needles of ice.
It’s either this or wait inside, pacing, and making myself sick.
As I jog past the docks, my gaze clings to the small cabin cruiser tethered there. The old boat is one of the few things I brought with me to this island. Monty wants to replace it with something more luxurious, but I won’t allow that. It took me seven years to pay it off before I met him. It transports me to work every day, and if I end up leaving this island tonight, it’ll get me to the closest airport.
It’s already packed, fueled, and ready to go. After Monty left for work this morning, I loaded it with luggage filled with my clothes, passport, birth certificate, and other important documents.
I’ll give Monty a second chance to unfuck our fucked-up fight. If he fails, I’ll sneak out, make a beeline to my cruiser, and leave before he can stop me.
I can do this.
After a ten-mile run, I shower and pull on a soft shirt and jeans.
The sun sets late this time of year. Dinnertime arrives hours earlier. I pick at a bowl of Dandan noodles, the spicy dish prepared in advance by the personal chef. I’m sure it’s delicious, but I don’t taste it.
My nerves hang on tenterhooks, my future—our baby’s future—teetering on whatever happens next.
I pour a glass of bourbon with two cherries. Not that I can drink it. Instead, I bring it to my nose, letting the warm, oaky aroma calm me.
A few minutes before six, I settle in at the bedroom window and wait.
In the distance, the docks sit in a raincloud. When Monty’s yacht arrives, I won’t see it. Still, I can’t pull my gaze away.
I lick the rim of the bourbon, savoring the sweet trace of liquor.
Seconds become years.
Another lick, and I set down the glass. Fingers tapping. Knees bouncing. Every minute is an eon.
I cast a wary glance at the clock.
Monty’s late.
Five minutes pulse into ten, thirty, forty…
At seven o’clock, tension grips my neck, my mood twisted and sour. Overwrought. Beyond livid. He was supposed to be home an hour ago.
I refuse to call him. I don’t want excuses. Or worse, I don’t want to hear the truth.
He’s not interested in fixing this.
Isn’t that why I hauled my shit to the boat this morning? Deep down, I fucking knew it would come to this. I knew all damn day how this would end, and still, even now, I can’t move from the window.
I don’t know how to go forward. I don’t know how to step out of this room, leave the only town I’ve ever called home, and walk away from the man I love.
Not without breaking.
Fuck, this isn’t just going to break me. It’s going to kill a huge, vital piece of me.
I hate him for that. I blame him for stealing our happy future. Resentment and rancor simmer beneath the confines of my skin, rising, boiling, setting my face on fire.
