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And this is my second, my moment that I understand what true pain is. Because that lecture, that speech that just came out of his mouth is bullshit, lies only a fucking robot that’s programmed would say.
Not Brett.
Not the man who makes me breathless with just a look… Reaching up, I brace myself against his cold window.
“What’s wrong with you?” I whisper accusingly.
Silence, nothing but my own harsh breathing. My head pounds so hard I might have a stroke.
“I’m going to go.” I shake my head as the tears I swore wouldn’t fall somehow win. Hot, salty tears wet my cheeks. “Let me ask you one more thing.” At this point, I don’t care anymore if I’m humiliating myself. Things like that mean nothing now.
“How long was this going to go? Had I not told you I love you, would you have continued sneaking around? Fucking me in your office like a… a… dirty secret?” I can barely get it out I’m crying so hard.
Turning, he tries to pull me into his arms as if I’m a charity case who needs a pat on the back.
“No!” I slap his hands away. “Fuck you. I thought…” I look up at the ceiling. “I thought you loved me, the same way I love you,” I scream at him, shaking with anger.
“Alexandrea, enough!” he yells, and though it’s the first real emotion to come out of him, I’m done.
“You’re right, Dean Powers. It is enough,” I spit. Turning, I grab my bag, not caring that I’m barefoot as I run outside, almost slipping on the sand.
I drop my bag on the driveway, frantically searching for my keys in my purse. Thank God, Iain returned my Honda from Jett and Raven’s last night before Brett and I got home in an Uber.
“Where are they?” I scream like a crazy person, wiping enough of the tears that won’t stop for me to find the fucking key fob.
“Alex, Jesus Christ, come back inside. I’m not letting you drive like this.”
Hands shaking, I grab my pepper spray and stand, holding it straight at him.
He stops.
“Don’t. Fucking. Come. Near. ME!” I’m panting, but so is he. Our eyes lock, and suddenly, I’m strangely calm.
I crouch down, and this time, I instantly find my key fob. I pick up my bag, sling it over my shoulder, grab my shoes, and unlock my car.
I don’t look back at him as I pull out. I don’t care that as soon as I’m away from him I start to cry again.
In fact, I don’t care about anything.
BRETT
“Pam, is Dean Murphy in?” Barely waiting for her to stop talking on the phone, I head toward Richard’s office, or should I say my office in two days.
“Dean Powers, he’s on a call…” I don’t stop and open his office door because that’s how I roll these days.
It’s been eighty-two hours since she left my house. My mind cannot let go of her pain as she aimed that pepper spray at me. Her love, pain, and anger spurred her forward while I stayed and drank.
I just walked back into my house and cracked open the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. It’s never failed me before, and I’m still waiting for him to come through this time.
Richard looks up as I burst in, boxes scattered around, all his diplomas and pictures already gone, nothing but his large desk and his big wingback leather chairs remain. He frowns when I drop into one and continues to talk.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, because I’ve come to confess. Christ, maybe I’m still drunk from last night, but he needs to know.
“Okay, that sounds excellent. He actually just walked into my office. I’ll pass on the good news.” Richard smiles, his wise eyes narrowing on my face because I’m not hiding.
Not anymore.
“You got it. I’ll send you a postcard.” He laughs, then hangs up.
