“Matilda?”
“Tilly?”
Stupid bitch.
I wake up on the couch with a cool, wet flannel on my forehead. Connor stands near my head with his arms folded, biceps on full show beneath his T-shirt. He’s glaring at Rhys, who stands near my feet, standing in the exact same pose, glaring at Connor. Neither realises I’m awake, which gives me a second to gather my thoughts. I remember Rhys asking me to come home, the pain in my chest and the darkness that followed as I fell to the tiled kitchen floor.
“How did I end up on the couch?” I ask, dreading the answer I know is coming.
“I carried you,” Connor says, his eyes softening when he realises I’m awake and turns to look at me. “Are you okay?”
“I told him not to,” Rhys adds before I have chance to answer. “I know you don’t like being picked up because of your size, but your guard dog wouldn’t listen to me.”
Connor turns his attention back to Rhys. Rhys kneels next to me and holds my hand. I shift uncomfortably on the leather couch cushions.
“Mat, I miss you. We both have some stuff to work on. I’m willing to try if you are. We can’t just throw away seven years together because of a few silly mistakes.”
And there’s that anxiety ball again. I pull my hand away from Rhys’s and promise to think about it, for no other reason than wanting to get out of this place as soon as possible. Rhys’s eyes cloud over, and for a second, I don’t recognise the man in front of me as my husband.
“Do you know what, Mat? Don’t bother!” Rhys stands up andtakes a step back. His hands are balled up into fists and there’s a vein throbbing in his neck.
I sit up instinctively as his face turns red with anger. Connor takes a step towards me.
“Leave if you want to leave!” Rhys spits. “It won’t be long before you’re back here begging me to take you back because you’ve realised that no one else will have you. Who’s going to want a broken, lazy, fat bitch like you?”
Connor starts to move, but I hold him by the back of his shirt. Rhys is in too much of a rage to notice and just keeps shouting, spittle flying from his mouth with every other word.
“I give it a week before you’re banging on the door wanting to move back in with the only person who will ever be capable of loving you.”
He storms out of the house and slams the front door behind him so hard the wedding photo we hung in the hall falls off its nail and smashes as it hits the floor. How symbolic.
Connor and I remain in silence for what feels like minutes after but is probably only seconds. Without turning to me, Connor asks, “Is there anything else of his that we can smash?”
I huff a laugh and release his shirt. I’d forgotten I was holding it until that small laugh centred me.
“Plenty, but I just want to grab the rest of my stuff and go before he comes back.” I stand up and realise how tired I am. It’s only 11:00 a.m., but a lot has happened in a few short hours.
“You’re not planning on staying, then?”
“What? No, of course not!” I shake my head, hoping it will clear the residual fuzziness. It doesn’t.
“Good. He’s a dick,” Connor says.
I laugh to myself at his choice of words.
“What’s so funny?” Connor asks, a look of wary amusement on his face.
“Just you calling Rhys a dick. That’s what I used to call you.You’ve always been ‘Dick with a capital D’.”
“Oh, really?” The small smile is still there, but I’m sure that’s a glimmer of hurt in his eyes.
“But not anymore!” I hastily add. “Since this truce started, it’s like you’ve been a different person. I really appreciate you being my friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you now. You’re really good at taking care of people, you know?”
He grins. “I’ve had years of practise with Ivy. Talk about high maintenance.”
“I bet your girlfriends have all loved the protective alpha-male stuff, too.” I don’t know why I say it; it just slips out. How mortifying.
“I wouldn’t know,” he replies shyly. “I’ve never really been interested in girlfriends.”
