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Old mass-market paperback romances with Fabio on the cover that have titles likeRomancing the RogueandRavished by the Highlander. It’s honestly more fun than I ever expected it to be.
Especially in the first month when the devoutly religious florist next door had to say the phrasethrobbing memberout loud and ended up in such a fit of giggles, she wound up on the floor. We still call that meeting “Mary’s Awakening.”
“I can’t wait,” I reply.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, so I fish it out and see Brett’s name on the screen. My eyes narrow as I stare down at his message.
Why haven’t you texted me?
With a huff, I roll my eyes. Then I quickly type out my reply.
Why haven’t you texted me?
Because I knew you were all pissy. Are you in a better mood yet?
Un-fucking-believable.
I want to type out a million different things to him, but after breaking up and getting back together so many times in the past few years, I’m officially numb to it all. I’d like to fight with him or tell him all the ways he hurt me, but there’s no point.
Instead, I just respond with:
Enough. It’s over. Best of luck with the club. I’m moving on.
It feels so final and my finger hovers over the send button for a very long time. When I glance up and see Gladys watching me, I wait for her to give me an encouraging nod before I finally tap the screen.
It doesn’t hurt. It probably should. Brett and I were little more than fuck buddies and friends the past three years, but I just always assumed that’s what a comfortable relationship was. Someone you could laugh with and screw from time to time.
But he never appreciated me or made me feel seen. Brett investednothingin our relationship, and the standard for him to please me was so low it might as well have been underground.
For him, I was a convenience.
For me, he was my world.
An imbalance I felt every single day of our relationship, so much so that I became starved for his attention and would devour every tiny crumb of it.
“You’re free, sweetie.”
I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel Gladys wrap her arms around me and hold me against her chest. I breathe in her familiar patchouli fragrance as I fume internally.
I’ve said all I could say and I’ve fought all I could fight.
And she’s right. Now I’m free.
May
The Gentleman
Ten
Adam
“You’re missing Sunday dinner again?” Luke’s voice on the line sounds both shocked and concerned.
My younger brother thrives on consistency and tradition. Any deviation from a well-formulated pattern is liable to drive him into a frenzy. Which is why I’ve waited an entire week to tell him I won’t be sitting at the table again tonight.
“I just can’t face him yet,” I reply. I refuse to lie, especially to my brothers. But he doesn’t need to know the whole truth. As far as he and Caleb know, I’ve been released from writing duties at the church. Which is a nice way to put it.
They don’t need to know about the club or what happened there.
