Chapter One
Eleven hours in the office, and this is what I have to come
home to. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, trapped in the naïve
thought that maybe, just maybe, if I wish him away hard enough, it could truly
happen.
Nope. Still there.
Blondie belts a tune out on my car radio, the beat going
some way toward helping me find my zen. Three years on, and the sheer sight of
him still pisses me off the same as it did when he told me “I don’t think I
could ever love you again.”
Yeah. Because loving me meant accepting the fact it wasn’t
my fault, and he refuses to believe that.
I refuse to believe that.
Drawing a deep breath, I reach for the door handle and
promptly cut Blondie off mid-sentence as the crisp evening air rushes into my
safe haven. With my leather tote snatched in my other hand, I rise and plaster
on as natural of a smile as I can manage when my back aches and my feet throb
from overuse.
“Eight months, Jared.”
My ex leans a shoulder against the side of the house, tucked
under the veranda as though he had hoped to blend into the shadows and catch me
by surprise.
“And yet, it hasn’t dulled your attitude any.”
“What do you want?” I shut and lock the car, pining for that
first dip in a hot bath.
“You ignored my calls.” He frowns as I walk right by him.
“Did you think I’d be that easy to brush off?”
“Hardly.” There was a reason he used to be saved in my phone
under ‘Cockroach’. “I’ve been busy.”
“You’re not the only one,” he bites, inviting himself into
the house behind me. “But then again, you never did understand that concept,
did you?”
“Carry on, Jared,” I snap louder than intended. “See how
long this wee conversation lasts if that’s the way you’re going to steer it.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I’ll make it
quick.” For a fleeting second, I see the vulnerable man I fell in love with ten
years ago. “I want you to sell the house.”
Until that.
“What?” I throw my tote on the side table with more zest
than necessary.
We were married for barely two years, not enough time for
the property to have increased substantially in value. So it was decided when
we split that I’d stay in it, paying the mortgage on my own, and the little
that he had put in over the course of our relationship would be repaid when I
sold.
When I sold.
“If you need the cash—”
“I need an end to this.” He waves a hand between us as I
slump against the hallway wall. “I need to cut ties from you, Cam.”
“I thought we were doing that just fine,” I whisper as I run
my eye over his carefully put together outfit.
Fuck, he unfriended me on Facebook the minute he split. I
don’t even know where he lives now, just that it’s in the city, and judging by
the threads he’s got on he’s doing well for himself.
Of course, he doesn’t need the money. He’s never needed
anything from me. Makes sense then, that he wants me to sell to ensure he has
no reason ever to see me, let alone talk to me, again.
“If you want closure, Jared, I can get my lawyer to send
yours the settlement amount when and if I sell in the future. You don’t have to
deal with me.”
He shrugs. “Except I would. You’d still be there in the back
of my mind every time I have to list assets, Cam. Or if Kell and I want to
apply for another mortgage—it’s still in my name, too.”
“So we change it.” I push aside the reference he made to the
whore who stole him away. “Make a time at the bank, and I’ll meet you there.”
Silence hangs thick, choking the air in the house—the very
reason for this conversation. I push off the wall with the flat of my hand and
take a couple of steps toward the lounge room.
“How long?”
He hangs in the entrance hall. “As soon as we can agree on a
realtor.”
“No.” I drop to the edge of the armchair, bracing myself
with both hands on the cushion. “You’ve got to give me longer.”
“Why, Cam?” He ventures as far as the open doorway, ever
reluctant to get too close to me. “You’ve had three years to get what you need
out of being here. Staying in the house won’t change anything.”
“Exactly,” I whisper.
I never stayed in the hope it would settle the past, or that
the memories the house held could ever ease the pain. I didn’t stay to heal. I
stayed to keep the wound open and festering, to never forget.
I chose to remain in the home we shared so I would be
reminded every day of what I did and why I don’t ever deserve to have that kind
of love again.
“You need to move on,” Jared murmurs as he retraces his
steps toward the door. “It’s not healthy, Cam.”
“I know.”
He twists the handle and opens the front door a fraction,
resting his shoulder against the edge as he drives the nail home a little
harder.
“You need to own up to what you did.”
