He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “For how long?”
“I’ll be back after the New Year.”
“The New Year! You mean you won’t be here for Christmas?”
“No.”
“Isla… come on… I’m sorry, you know I am. It won’t happen again.”
I’m clenching my jaw so tight, it’s hard to get the words out. “That’s what you said last time.”
“Please… I feel terrible. I know I shouldn’t have done it. Don’t make this harder. Can I speak to Max?”
“No.”
“He’s my son.” His voice hardens. “I have a right to talk to him.” Then he turns pleading. “I want to say sorry. Please, Isla. Don’t make it worse than it already is.”
I glance over at the gate. Max is talking to the horse and stroking his nose as it looks over the gate. Cullen is leaning on the fence, watching me, although he looks away as I catch his eye.
I turn around so he can’t see my face. “Hitting me was one thing,” I say slowly. “I’m an adult, and it was my choice to stay and try to work things out. But lashing out at Max isunacceptable. I blame myself for putting him in that situation. I have to do what’s best for Max.”
“What’s best for Max is to be with his mother and father, together. You don’t want to be a single parent.”
I stay as calm as I can, although I’m trembling. “After what you did, you don’t get to say what’s best for him. In the New Year, I’ll be applying for a divorce. We’re done. Don’t call me again, because I won’t answer.” I end the call and slide my phone back into my pocket.
Wrapping my arms tightly around myself like a shield, I turn back to the boys. Cullen says something to Max, who stays petting Hector, and then he walks over to me and stands in front of me.
I continue to tremble. Tears prick my eyes. I feel as if someone’s reached inside me and ripped out my heart.
He doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. I walk into them, and he closes his arms around me and gives me a hug.
I rest my head on his shoulder, fighting against tears. “Sorry,” I whisper. It’s little more than a squeak.
“Shh.” He rubs my back.
We stand there like that for about thirty seconds, while I fight to regain control of my emotions. The summer sun is warm, and I can smell the ocean. A cow lows in one of the paddocks. Max is talking to Hector, telling him about his dinosaur. Beside him, Ghost sneezes, and Max says, “Bless you.”
Cullen’s cologne smells of vetiver—freshly cut grass and leather, earthy and warm. The hollow at the base of his neck is just an inch from my lips. It feels amazing just to be close to someone.
I move back a little and wipe my eyes. “Sorry,” I say again.
He lowers his arms. “It’s okay.”
“It was my husband.” I feel as if I owe him an explanation. Or do I want him to know my situation? “I told him I’m applying for a divorce in the New Year.”
His eyebrows rise. He studies me thoughtfully. “Maybe some time away will put things right.”
“No,” I say firmly. His eyebrows lift higher at my vehement tone. I continue, “Last Christmas, he hit me. He was drunk, and afterward he cried and said he’d never do it again. Like a fool, I believed him, and I stayed. And then a week ago, he hit Max.”
Cullen’s eyes narrow.
“It’s my fault,” I say savagely.
He puts his hands on his hips. “No, absolutely, one hundred percent, it’s not.”
“If I hadn’t stayed—”
“It’s not your fault. And you’ve done the right thing by leaving.”
