She sighed and I could practically see the wheels spinning in her mind.
“Say it,” I pushed her.
Now, I was sitting up and leaning back against the pillows. Anxious about what was going to come out of her mouth. Whatever it was, I knew it would be honest because she didn’t see the point in being any other way with me.
This was my lover.
I wanted to make her my wife.
“It would have made sense for you to be closer to home after Allison died, too,” she said softly. “But you didn’t go. You stayed because she’s buried here, I think. You didn’t want to leave her. Does this mean you’re ready to leave her now?”
I whipped the covers back and shot out of bed. I didn’t want to have this conversation bare-assed, so I found my boxer briefs and put them on.
“E.G., talk to me,” she said, folding her legs up in a twist in front of her.
“My name is Grant,” I snapped over my shoulder. “Everyone refers to me as Grant, my family, friends. Don’t you think it’s time you started using my actual name?”
“No.” she said. “You’re E.G. to me. And I like that. That piece of you is mine.”
Agitated, I rubbed my chest. I didn’t like the idea of a piece of me belonging to her. I’d already belonged to someone once. Taking that part of me back and giving it to another woman just felt like another betrayal of Allison.
Hadn’t I already done enough to my dead wife?
Fucked another woman. Knocked her up. Now I was actually thinking of leaving the state where we had once lived together.
“Never mind,” I said. “We’re not leaving Houston. Forget I said anything.”
I marched into the walk-in closet and found a pair of sweats on a shelf. I put them on and realized that I was looking at clothes on hangers that weren’t mine.
I’d told Flowers I wanted us to share a room. I’d told her, she wasn’t going back to her bedroom ever again. It only made sense she would move her clothes to this closet.
Why was I having trouble breathing?
Tossing on a hoodie to pair with my sweats, I walked at a ridiculously fast clip to the bedroom door.
“Where are you going?” she called out.
She was out of bed too now. Standing beside the bed in my sweatshirt, her hand unconsciously smoothing over the soccer ball that was her belly.
That was my baby.
“I need some air,” I said, not looking at her.
“Okay.”
I paused by the door, my back to her, my hand on the door handle.
“This must get so old for you,” I said. “The constant pulling and pushing.”
It’s not like I didn’t know I was an ass. Constantly blowing hot and cold. Making her give me everything while the sight of a few hangers in my closet drove me to a near panic attack.
“I’m tough. I can take it,” she said, with her typical Flowers bravado.
“I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here. And E.G., if you want to move to Florida, I’ll do that, too.”
Of course she would.
