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“I think, Morgan, you made yourself perfectly clear. So, tell me, why should I even bother with you now? That would be a hasty decision because you’re not over your ex… husband.”
“Noah, please. This is hard… don’t do this to me,” she pleads, keeping her tears at bay.
“Do this to you?” I raise my voice. “This wasn’t in my plan. You weren’t in my plan! This is supposed to be a new life for me. I wasn’t supposed to fall for you.”
“No. Just Scarlett, right?”
“Fuck you,” I tell her and fumble for the keys to my car while ignoring the fact that she’s standing there about to cry. Every part of me wants to run to her and beg her to choose me. Not him. But my pride won’t allow it. I refuse to be second best.
I stand, pretending to ignore her as I walk past while she calls my name. She’s only a few feet away, but her scent has invaded my office, making it nearly impossible to walk away at this moment.
“Noah, please, let me explain to you.”
I hold back, uncertain as to why. I hate she has something over me, and that my pride and ego are willing to stand still for just a moment to listen to her.
“Michael is technically not my son. He’s my stepson.”
I hate to admit that upon hearing those words, it makes me feel slightly better, though I’ll never admit it to her. I continue to stand in silence, unsure why I feel the need to listen to her explanation when the damage has already been done.
“Michael has special needs. I don’t know if you know much about it, but he has autism,” she continues, the crack in her voice filtering through. “Wyatt and I have joint custody of him, and every second week he spends time with his mother.”
She moves her gaze to the floor, shuffling her feet anxiously. “Last year, Wyatt and I decided to go our own ways. We thought it would be easy, but Michael took it hard. We’d worked so hard to create a stable home environment for him. He reacted poorly, and his behavior changed, sleeping became difficult for him. The school was concerned for him. He doesn’t adapt well to change of any kind. There are ways around it, ways we need to adapt. But it’s a prolonged process that takes a lot of dedication from both of us, his mother, teachers, and our therapists. We saw a behavioral specialist last year, and Wyatt and I agreed that for now, we’d continue to live in the same house and transition the move slowly.”
She takes a breath, waiting for me to respond. I don’t have words, or at least my words make no sense in my head. I don’t know a thing about autism. The kid didn’t look any different at Scarlett’s house, so I don’t understand at all what she’s going on about.
“You lied, Morgan.”
“I had no choice, Noah. I didn’t expect any of this. I didn’t expect you to walk into my life… you just pissed me off so much I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to tell you, but I knew when I did, you’d act exactly the way you are now.”
“What the fuck do you expect?” I yell.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know the truth.” She straightens her posture and stares directly at me. “So where to now?”
“You’re asking me that?” I ridicule her, shaking my head, almost laughing at her ridiculous question. “You’re the one carrying the baggage.”
She appears offended, her wolfish expression quickly following. “And you’re not? Tell me now, why did life get so complicated back home?”
I stand in silence, not answering her question.
“Yeah, exactly. We all have our baggage. We all have our lies. The question is, are you ready to lay all yours on the table for me to see?”
More silence.
What the fuck does she expect me to do? Turn around and forgive her, then play happy houses with her and her husband.
“I didn’t think so. So, before you go judging me, take a look at yourself. None of us are perfect,” she fires back hastily. Morgan turns around, attempting to leave the room before I do.
Just before she steps out into the hall, I fire one more question at her—the one question eating away at me. “Answer me one thing,” I snarl. “Do you still sleep with him?”
Her complete body swivels to face where I’m standing. Wearing an emerald-green dress which flares out toward the bottom, it showcases her long, lean legs, which my eyes try their hardest to ignore. Even when
I’m looking at the floor, I see her gold pumps strapped around her ankle, and all I want to do is rest them on my shoulder and kiss every inch of her skin.
“Yes, Noah. I sleep with him. I don’t fuck him, but we do share the same bed. For the sake of our son.”
And the thought that threatened to eat away at me just took its first bite.
I laugh, covering up the hurt and anger swirling throughout my twisted mind. “Right, Morgan, you answered my question perfectly.”
