* * *
My fingers hover over the keys, a part of me wanting to end my text by telling him I love him—especially after this day. It went from a great morning to shit quickly, but it was great to have Sally turn the reporter away, and also to know it won’t happen again while I’m at work.
But as I exit the car, a large black SUV pulls into my driveway, and I stop, watching it.
I’m one of the only homes on the road, set back too far for someone to be lost and turning around. The windows are tinted, and I can’t see who’s in the driver’s seat, but as my heart begins to race, my mind catches up.
I knew he’d show up eventually.
“Sign the fucking papers, Quinn,” he shouts as he exits the car. “This is how this works. You know that. You knew that going into it, so stop making this harder than it has to be.”
He’s yelling as he walks up to me, intimidating and loud. Stopping in front of me, his body is only inches from mine, and I can feel his hot breath against my face.
He smells of whiskey and cigarettes, and I grimace, hating how close he is to me, how his scent reminds me of all the awfulness I went through while married to him.
Clarity is a real bitch, only showing up after the fact.
Without a word, without engaging with him, I turn and walk toward the house, even though I know this is the wrong thing to do.
He won’t be able to handle it, adding fuel to an already raging fire.
“Quinn! Don’t you fucking walk away from me!” he screams, and I hear his feet pounding hard against the gravel.
I can feel my heart racing, afraid of what he might do. During the course of our relationship, he never hit me, but he did so much more.
The emotional abuse runs deep, leaving scars that can’t be seen.
“Eleven million, Sean?” I shout back, my keys in my hand, my legs still moving up the steps to my house.
He’s following me. He won’t back down from this until he gets what he wants, and in the past, I would have given in. Too afraid of what would come if I didn’t.
Not anymore.
“That’s not mind-your-own-business money. It’s fucking hush money, and you know it,” I spit out. “You can’t handle that I know every fucking skeleton in your closet. I’m not signing!”
As the words leave my mouth, he grabs for my phone, yanking it from my hand. He hurls it off the deck. Seconds later, he launches a chair, which hits the ground and splinters into pieces.
“What the fuck do you want, Quinn!” he yells, punching the side of my house, his fist bloody, and while I’m terrified, he doesn’t get to do this to me anymore.
My hands shake as I lift the keys to unlock the door, and as quickly as I try to do it, he’s quicker. Grabbing them from me, he wraps them in his palm.
“Quinn,” he hisses, his teeth clenched, his fists balled up. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
Fear rockets through me as he steps closer, and I can feel the tears begin to pool in my eyes. Fighting back the urge to scream for help, to start crying—anything to get me out of this.
“I want nothing. I want you to leave me alone. I want to act like I never married you.”
“Then sign the fucking NDA, or I’ll ruin your life.”
I’m just finishing up at work, ready to head over to Quinn’s, when Miles strolls into the workshop. He has a huge smile on his face as walks over and punches me in the arm.
“Dude, what the hell?” I ask, punching him back.
My little brother laughs, throwing his arm around my shoulders now as he says, “So.”
He doesn’t say anything more, and even though I know exactly what he’s talking about, I prompt him back with another, “So.”
“You and Quinn, huh?”
