Page 91 of Shattered Dreams

Andre

My flight was delayed twice, so when I get home, it’s late. My parents already let me know that they have Rylee and will keep her for the weekend because she’s not feeling well. It’s probably for the best, because I don’t know how this weekend is going to go.

There’s a pit in my stomach the entire way home, and when I pull up to my house, I almost don’t want to go in.

Because I know what my answer is and it hurts just as much as it should.

Because part of me knows it’s wrong. Problem is, there is a bigger part of me that needs this. It’s who I am. It’s what I love. It’s what I need to do to be happy. I love my daughter and I would do anything for her, but I can’t just float by in life to appease her. She’s young. She’ll adjust. We’ll get a nanny, a good one, and start her in a new school. It’s better to do it now, rather than when she’s older. It’ll all work out. It’ll all be fine.

The house is dark when I open the door. I close it and flick the lights on, startling when I see Paul sitting on the couch. He’s leaning back in the corner lazily, a bottle of Jack in his hand. His eyes on me.

Fuck.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual and not at all like I’m going to give him devastating news.

He huffs a laugh, getting to his feet and swaying. I can’t recall how full that bottle was before… or if it’s brand new.

“So that’s what we’re doing?” he asks bitterly. “Just pretending everything is okay?”

“Is something not okay?” I ask carefully.

He smiles at me, and for a moment, it almost looks genuine.

“Don’t play games with me, Andre. Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

My heart is pounding, sweat gathering at my temples. Why am I prolonging this? I should just tell him. He obviously already knows.

“You know what,” he says, stepping closer. When I don’t answer him, he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a long pull of it. Drinking it like it’s apple juice.

“How long have you been drinking?” I ask.

“Don’t change the subject,” he spits out. “Tell me that you’re leaving. Go ahead. Say it. I know you’re going to.”

I hold his gaze. His eyes are wide. Wild. It’s hard to hold his stare because I don’t even want to look at him.

Because he’s right.

I am.

“I’m leaving,” I say.

He grits his teeth so tight I see the muscles in his jaw flex. He breathes in shakily through his nose, his hand tightening around the neck of the bottle.

“What even was the point?” he hisses.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like all of this was nothing.”

“Well, it’s certainly not something if it’s so easy for you to turn your back on it!” he shouts, getting right in my face.

“This isn’t about us. It’s—”

“About you and what you want and what’s best for you and Rylee. Blah, blah, blah.” He takes another swig. “Fuck me, right? Me and Maddox, and your parents, and everyone else who will be left here to miss you.”