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I felt giddy and euphoric. I could hardly believe what I had created. I did a little dance right there on the sidewalk, not caring who saw me.
The only person I wanted to share this moment with was Adam Ducate.
That right there told me everything I needed to know. So I swallowed my doubts and my second-guessing and decided to start living my future that very moment.
**
I drove to the store and bought two bottles of champagne. I wanted to celebrate not just the completion of my mural, but finally letting my heart take the lead and telling my head to shut the fuck up.
I wanted to be with Adam. I loved him. I wanted a life with him. I would tell him that together we’d figure out the future. That we’d build something. Together.
I was bursting with happiness that I barely recognized. It had everything to do with Adam. I drove to his house, blasting cheesy love songs the whole way. Only Adam Ducate could make me want to listen to butt rock power ballads.
I didn’t notice the flashy car parked in the driveway. I really wished I had. Then it would have prepared me for the sledgehammer to the face I was about to experience.
I took my hair down and fluffed it with my fingers, wishing I had brought a change of clothes with me. It didn’t matter; I planned for Adam to get me out of my clothing as soon as possible. Particularly after I told him what I knew he wanted to hear.
I was grinning like a loon when I rang the doorbell, clutching the two bottles of champagne. I was going to tell Adam that I wanted to give a real relationship a try. That I didn’t want the end of the mural to be the end of us. That New York didn’t matter. That the only life I wanted to have was with him. We had waited long enough to be together. It was time to stop being stubborn and to embrace the second chance we had been given.
The door opened.
“Adam—”
His name fell like a lump of lead at my feet because it wasn’t Adam that answered the door.
“Hi there, Two-Back Galloway. What are you doing at my house?” Chelsea was dressed in a skimpy slip, her massive boobs spilling over the top. Her blonde hair was tousled in perfect waves around her shoulders. Her collagen-puffed lips were parted in a perfect pout. And she stood there, in Adam’s doorway, like she owned the place. Like she had every right to be there.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, feeling my anger surge. What was going on? I tried to look over her shoulder for Adam but couldn’t see him. I could smell something cooking, and music came from the speakers in the living room. Was he playing Justin Beiber? What kind of fresh hell was this? I noticed several candles lit on the table, giving the space a romantic, ambient feel.
Chelsea put a hand on her hip and flicked her hair back, narrowing her eyes. “I live here, Meg. So I’ll ask you again, Two-Back, what are you doing at my house?”
Her house.
Her house.
No freaking way.
“Does Adam even know you’re here, you psycho?” I seethed, thinking about pushing my way into the house.
Chelsea laughed, an obnoxiously pretty sound. God, I hated her. “Of course he does, you idiot. He’s in the kitchen making our favorite Chicken Marsala.” She leaned in toward me as if sharing a confidence. “It was the meal we had on our honeymoon in Rome.”
This couldn’t be happening. Adam wanted nothing to do with Chelsea.
“Let me speak to Adam. Now,” I barked, getting in Chelsea’s face.
She took a step back, clearly shocked by my aggression. But then she looked over her shoulder and called out, “Adam, there’s someone here to see you.”
And I heard his voice filtering down the hallway, muffled but clear. “What?”
He was there. He was actually there. And Chelsea was with him.
Chelsea, obviously seeing the devastation on my face, had to twist the knife a little bit more. “We’re going to counseling. We’re going to give our marriage another try.” She gave me a simpering smile. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You don’t give up on them. Adam knows we belong together. We always have.” She gave me a once over, her lip curling in disgust. “You can get off my porch now.”
Then she shut the door in my face.
I was left standing there with my two bottles of champagne, feeling like the world’s dumbest person. Slightly crazed, I pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of my bag and quickly wrote a note, then attached it to the two bottles of champagne and left them by the door.
Then I ran back to my car just as the first tears began to fall.
