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“What—you’re not dealing with what tonight? You’re upset, and I want to know why!”
“This, your constant nagging. Jesus Christ.” He turned to face me. “I barely get in the door and you’re already on me trying to figure out if something’s wrong.”
My jaw dropped. “At your studio, you were the one who hinted at staying tonight, then when Parker asks you, you tell him you don’t know and sound like that is the absolute last thing you want to do.”
“I’m sorry for not wanting to spend the night, Reagan. I’m sorry I don’t want to take Parker to school tomorrow. Sometimes I need a night and a morning to myself. I’m not your husband, he’s not my fucking child. It is not my job to take care of you!”
I stumbled back a couple steps and shook my head back and forth. “What?” Hearing a sound off to my right, I turned and saw Parker standing in the hall. “Room,” I choked out, and watched until he disappeared.
“I need space. I need to step back so I can just think.” His tone had dropped the angry edge, and was now replaced with a heavy exhaustion. “Our entire relationship has moved so fast, and I just—I don’t know. But I need time.”
My heart dropped, and I couldn’t move—couldn’t respond. This wasn’t happening. My lips parted, but only a short, ago
nized cry left me. As if someone had dropped a weight on my chest.
“I’m sorry, Reagan,” he said quickly as he turned and walked out the door.
I stood there for countless minutes staring at the door as I tried to compose myself. I wouldn’t cry. I refused to cry. I’d been protecting us for years from men, and this was why. Because of this possibility. Because Parker had fallen in love with him just as much as I had, like I’d known would happen. Because he ran, just like I’d known he would.
Locking my jaw when it began quivering, I curled my hands into fists. I would. Not. Cry.
He was no better than Austin. If he didn’t want us, then it was his loss. We didn’t need him, we were fine alone.
Alone after experiencing life with Coen seemed impossible, and that one word had me falling to the floor as a strained sob burst from my chest.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my phone and tapped on the screen a few times before putting it to my ear. My body shook relentlessly as I tried to hold back the sobs, and they just pushed through harder.
“Hey, Ray.”
“Kee-Keegan,” I choked out.
“What’s wrong?” he shouted.
“I need y-you . . . here. I need you here.”
I heard shuffling and keys. “Are you at your apartment? I’m coming, what happened?”
Strained cries were all that left me for long moments. “Yes, just please.”
“I’m coming.”
Putting the phone on the ground, I wrapped my arms around my waist, as if it could somehow hold me together. It didn’t. It felt like I was breaking, and I didn’t know how to even begin to pick up all those pieces of me—of us.
“Mom?”
I looked quickly to the right into Parker’s wide eyes, and tried so hard to stop the tears. But seeing him only made it worse. My heartache for my son was only just beginning, and it was worse than anything I had begun to feel for myself.
“Did Coen go back to his house?”
When I couldn’t speak, I just nodded, and Parker seemed to accept that and sat on the floor next to me.
“He’ll come back,” he said softly.
If I could have stopped the crying to take care of my son right then, I still wouldn’t have been able to respond to that. Because even if Coen tried to come back, I wasn’t sure I would let him.
Coen—November 1, 2010
MY PHONE RANG for the fifth time in a row, and as I reached down to shut it off, I caught sight of Saco’s name, and answered.
