Page 85 of Broken Vows

“What’s wrong?” I ask, searching his eyes, but they’re filled with so much anger that I step back.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Okay… We’ve never really had a fight. Sure, technically we fought a lot in the beginning, and we still have the occasional heated debate over who gets control of the remote (me) or whether I’m allowed to wear a certain dress without becoming an accessory to whatever crime he commits to every man who sees me in it (him). But nothing like this.

“Okay,” I say, calmly, ignoring the way my stomach feels like someone’s squeezing the insides. “Well, you need to eat something. Maybe we could just order takeout and watch a movie or something.”

He ignores me, and anxiety starts to turn into anger. What the hell? Between our four p.m. text saying he couldn’t wait to rush home to see me and his behavior now, something has happened.

“Theo?”

“No.” He grabs his backpack from the chair and swipes his keys from the counter. “I can’t be here. I need to go.”

What? Where the hell does he need to go? Fuck him. I can’t even imagine what he’d say to me if I pulled this on him and I’m not the one walking around fake-engaged. I fold my arms tight against my chest, the movement a barrier of protection. “What the hell did I do?”

“It’s not you. It’s… fuck…” He rubs a hand down his chin. “I just… I need to… I can’t be around you right now.”

“You can’t be around me? Are you serious?” Theo has never made me feel anything but a queen. But right now, he’s making me feel worthless. I stare at him, trying to read his eyes, but they’re scattered and angry and I’m over it. “Fine. Then don’t.”

I storm down the hall toward the guest bedroom, never more thankful in my life that he has two rooms. I’d stomp all the way to my apartment if I could, but Michael’s off for the night and I do not feel like getting an Uber in my pajamas.

Even though he’s barely acknowledged me since he got home, I still find myself listening for the front door—waiting for him to leave. Instead, he exhales loudly before I hear his footsteps following me.

“Wait,” he says.

I swing open the guest bedroom door. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to fucking ignore me, then tell me you have somewhere to go and can’t be around me and then ask me to wait. I’m sleeping in here tonight, and do not for a second think of waking me up from wherever you magically have to be.” I want to hurt him the way he’s hurting me. It’s small, maybe event petty—sleeping in the guest bedroom is nothing. His room is right next door, the wall between us paper-thin. But we’ve never not gone a night without sharing a bed, and he needs to feel that absence.

“But—”

I slam the door before he says another word, climb into bed, and try hard not to cry.

But before I reach the pillow to muffle, I break into sobs.

37 Theo

Fuck.

My fists hit the bag, over and over and over, pummeling against it until the demon inside me releases. The murderous rage blistering my insides has elevated so high, that for the second time in my life, I feel like I might kill someone. The first time was when I saw that Cody fucker lay his hands on Lexie.

The second time was three hours ago, when I got a call from Olivia.

Sweat pours down my forehead and I rage against the boxing bag in my condo’s gym. The people around me have headphones on, paying no attention to me thank Christ, because if anyone came up to me, I don’t know what I would do.

When Olivia sent me a message this afternoon saying she needed to talk, I set my patient notes aside and spent the next hour on the phone with her. The hysterical crying was the first sign something was wrong. Then she proceeded to tell me that she’d found an envelope in her mailbox with the note saying: Choose your words carefully, Olivia. There are ears everywhere.

I said it could have been from anyone, but we both knew that this note could only be from my dad. My father is a sadistic bastard, and this is exactly something he’d do.

But if Olivia pulls out, the others will almost certainly follow. She’s the strongest link I have to taking my father down—not just because she has the receipts and evidence, but because she also has the means to protect herself when this goes public. Ironically, when she was a student, she had none of that. No power, no visibility—my father’s perfect target. That changed later. Her father, a local union organizer who made noise about unfair labor practices and is now running for state senate, gave her a level of protection she never had before. With Olivia attached in the exposé, the other women believed their stories would be taken seriously. That someone would finally listen.

But what am I supposed to do? Force her to tell the journalist everything? She was a mess on the phone, terrified that if she came forward, she’d jeopardize both her dad’s campaign and her new job. And I couldn’t do a fucking thing.

I pound into the bag. Fuck. Fuck! Of course, I understand. My father is powerful and cruel, and he already took something from her once back in school. And now her voice has so much fucking power, whether she realizes it or not. But if I made her feel like shit, or coerced her into coming forward, I’d be no better than him.

But the investigation has to continue. My father needs to be held accountable. These women deserve their restitution. And I’m failing. I’m fucking failing them, Lexie, Anna…

Everything is spiraling. Anna’s been quieter with me lately—acting vague and evasive. She’s always been someone who tells me everything, which is how I know she’s holding something back. I keep reassuring Lexie that everything will be fine, that Anna’s just waiting on final details from the lawyer. But the truth is, I’m stalling. It shouldn’t be taking this long. Every time we think we’re at the finish line, another delay crops up, stretching my patience thinner.

I’m terrified that if it doesn’t happen soon, Lexie will leave. The idea of her no longer being in my life guts me so badly that sometimes it feels hard to breathe. I know what that fear means—that she matters more to me than anyone ever has, that my feelings run deeper than I’m ready to fully confront.