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The alcohol opens the floodgates in the wall of fear and upset of the last few weeks. Everything I’ve pulled back on saying, the selfish desire for Bryn to come home that colours my world is released. “Because you don’t know if you will. You want to be with her, not me.”
“What the fuck? Avery, are you drunk?”
“Yes.”
“Then we shouldn’t talk.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter.
A sound of derision heads down the line. “That’s not helpful.”
“Okay. Tell me when you’re coming home.”
“Soon.”
I snort. “Soon.”
“You’re being selfish,” he says in a low voice.
“I’mbeing selfish? You’ve been in Australia six weeks. Understandable. Your son is sick. Totally understand you want to be there. But, you’re vague about us, about how long you’re staying, and now you’ve moved in with your ex!”
“I have moved into her house and I just told you why! Fuck, Avery, I’m not in her bed!”
“Yet,” I mutter.
Bryn’s tone changes from tired to angry. “Right. Stop there. You’re drunk and misreading this.”
“What? Like the pictures I’ve seen of Bryn Hughes, his son, and the beautiful mother—the Blue Phoenix good guy making amends after all these years. Happy fucking families!”
There’s a long pause. “I’m sorry you’re misreading this. I’ll call you tomorrow, when you’re sober.”
“Fine!”
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
Bryn hangs up and I stare at the phone, pain and frustration coursing through my body, until it spills out with my tears. Uselessly, I bury my head in a cushion on the sofa and sob. I’m holding onto something that no longer exists and the longer I do, the harder it hurts.
If Bryn doesn’t call tomorrow, I’ll start planning my future without him.
