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I could feel it.
“Come on in,” Eric said with a warm smile.
We’d decided to meet at his house instead of his office, mainly because the media was still hounding us both for a story, camping outside his business, waiting for him to come out at all hours. Fortunately, they didn’t have the guts to do the same thing at the clubhouse, so I’d been hiding out there for the past few days. Eric gestured to his dining room table where there was a slew of papers laid out with folders and pens at the ready.
“Matthew has had a look over them and made the changes that you requested. So we’re all good to go, they just need your signature.”
Wrench being cautious had made sure that their lawyer had gone through every single damn detail of the will, and made sure that with regards to my own wishes, that it had all been covered.
I wanted nothing.
Not a single cent.
Not anything that could tie me to him.
All I wanted was to forget.
I took a seat at the table, feeling almost good about what was about to happen. I wasn’t scared or apprehensive, I was just okay. Okay with the fact that my husband was now dead—a concept that many would find devastating or debilitating, something that would crush their world. The difference being I didn’t love that man. The only emotions I felt toward him were malice and resentment for what he’d done to me. The world was a better place without him as far as I was concerned, mine especially.
Eric took a seat beside me and one after another, I read through each paper and laid my signature at the bottom, just like Wrench had insisted. Eric sat patiently with me, offering me the occasional supportive smile.
“Last one,” he said, slipping the paper in front of me and then standing to his feet. “You want a drink to celebrate?”
I thought about it for a second as my pen hovered. “Yeah, actually, that’d be great,” I answered with a smile before returning my attention to the paper.
He moved over to his wet bar and pulled out some glasses. “Whiskey right?” He chuckled.
I grinned. “You know me so well.”
A minute later he set the glass down on the table as my pen swept over the paper, and I pressed a final point before lifting my pen with a deep breath and setting it aside.
“Wow,” I said as I gathered the papers and tapped them on the table to bring them into a group together. “That’s it.”
I handed them over to him, and he smiled as he slipped them into a gray folder and tapped the top. “That’s it,” he repeated and picked up his glass, the ice inside tinkling. He held it up. “Here’s to you.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
Our glasses clinked together, and I bought the drink to my lips, savoring the taste of the woody liquid and the way it burned as it coated my throat. It was strong but refreshing, and I felt my body instantly relax, my shoulders slumping as I leaned back into the comfortable chair.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, just sipping at our glasses, enjoying the end to what seemed like a part of my life that I couldn’t escape from.
“How does it feel to be a free woman?” Eric asked finally with a smile.
I shrugged, I guess for a long time I’d already seen myself as free from Peter, but now it was just solidified. And the idea that I could now move on without his presence haunting me, it felt good. I took another long drink.
“Amazing actually,” I responded, my body feeling light and airy.
How strong was this alcohol?
My hand became weak, and I dropped it to the table, the glass clanging against the wood. My breathing was shallow, and I was finding it hard to move, my body becoming numb.
It was a feeling I was familiar with.
A feeling I knew so well.
I slowly turned my head to look at Eric.
“Good, I’m glad,” he said, his mouth contorting into a sadistic smile. “Because this is the last time you’ll feel that way.”
