“Jude,” Micah whispered, dropping his hand to my shoulder. His eyes pleaded with me, begged me to give in, to soften to him, and I just couldn’t. My rage had grown to epic proportions and combined with my earlier revelations, I felt I had no other option than to blow up.
Swinging my arm so I knocked his hand off my shoulder, I stepped back from him. “Don’t fucking touch me, you liar. Just get the fuck away from me. I never, ever want to see you again.” I was hurting so fucking bad and wanting nothing more than to hurt him more than he’d hurt me, I spat, “Leave me the fuck alone.”
Broken and battered, he stepped away from me. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the murmurs from the students. And when I saw Mr. Murphy get out of his truck, grabbing Jackson by the shoulder, and pulling him away from the group, I’d had enough of this bullshit for one day. Mr. Murphy shot me a look, his eyes pulling into angry slits, his mouth thinning under the pressure of his anger, and I simply had no fucks left to give.
Somewhere in the midst of everything that had just happened, I walked back to my car, slamming the door behind me. In my rearview mirror, I caught sight of Brandon walking Micah to his car. They exchanged a few words before Brandon closed Micah’s door, letting him pull away.
And though just moments ago I told him to leave me the fuck alone, I’d be lying if I said at least part of me didn’t want him right here, back at my side, where I felt he belonged.
Pulling me out of my anger-induced haze, Brandon knocked on the passenger window, signaling for me to unlock the door. Reluctantly, I pressed the button and let him in.
I expected a river of expletives to flow from his foul mouth, for him to badger me into telling him every little detail about my personal life. What I didn’t expect was for him to say, “Are you okay?”
It took me no more than a second to take stock of my emotions. “No. I’m not.” I banged my hands on the steering wheel, and as I turned my head to the side, I saw Mr. Murphy stopped right next to us. As he pulled away, he shot me the same look he had just minutes ago. But there was something different about it, something amplifying the anger and ignorance usually residing there. “I’m so fucking far from okay,” I added, watching Mr. Murphy’s taillights fade as he drove away from the school.
“Yeah, I figured,” he said. “Let me make sure the kids get home and then I’ll meet you at your place, okay?”
“Fine. Whatever,” I agreed, far less than half-heartedly. Since it was shattered into a thousand pieces, I didn’t have the energy to protest him. He was out of the car before I could even place my hand on the gear shift.
My thoughts were the only company I had on the ten-minute ride home, and they just wouldn’t shut the fuck up.
He had a wife.
And a kid.
But he’d been here for two weeks, and he never once said a fucking thing about them.
Not that it would have been the easiest of conversations to start. “So yeah, I know we used to date, and there’s this unspeakable connection tethering us together for the last ten years, but I thought you might want to know I’m married.”
As I pulled into my driveway, I wondered how the hell I’d even gotten home. A cynical puff of derision fell from my lips when I looked at the empty parking spot in the driveway. I was a fucking fool to think he’d always be there.
Dropping my bag into its usual place in the hallway, I closed the door behind me. It was empty, so fucking empty that every step echoed through the space. Sarge’s food and water bowls were gone. The mess was cleaned up. The dishes were washed and put away.
Somehow, as if those weren’t enough proof of his departure, I needed to know he was gone for certain. Walking toward what he calledourbedroom just last night felt as if I was the dead man walking. Even though I didn’t have X-ray vision and couldn’t see into the drawers that were once his, I knew they were empty. His nightstand was cleared off, his phone charger surely wrapped up and shoved into the bottom of his duffle bag.
Sinking down onto the bed, I wondered how long it would be before the sheets no longer smelled like him, how long it would take me to stop reaching over to his side, hoping to find his warm body.
Anger and sadness were destinations I’d visited often, but I vowed never to live there. However, I did not disavow a long vacation at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon.
A voice buried somewhere deep in the back of my head chided me, sayingThe apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.But I actively chose to ignore it.
Nothing was going to stop me from numbing this pain.
Except for the banging on the front door.
Bypassing the bottle, I answered the knocking, hoping beyond all belief it would be Micah. But with each step toward the door, I knew it wouldn’t be him.
Offering him nothing more than a grunt of a greeting, I said, “So youdoknow where the front door is?” Sarcasm hung on my every word as I turned my back on Brandon. Wordlessly, I walked into the kitchen and reached for the bottle I kept hidden in the small cabinet above the refrigerator.
He sat across from me on the other side of the island as I poured two glasses. I finished mine before his even hit his lips. Just as I was about to pour another, needing to numb every inch of my defeated body, Brandon reached across the island and snatched the bottle from my hand, nearly knocking it to the floor. “What the hell was that for?”
“I think the last thing you need right now is to be drunk.” After putting the bottle back into the cabinet from which I’d just taken it, he moved into the living room. He patted the cushion on the couch next to him. “I think we need to chat.” There was humor in his voice, but no meanness. It was enough to make me take the bait.
I flopped onto the sofa, resting my elbows on my thighs. Burying my face in my hands did nothing to stop Brandon from talking. “You want to tell me what happened back there?”
Mumbling through the slits my fingers made over my mouth, I let him know that “Micah left. Something happened.” Echoing Micah’s words from earlier, I couldn’t help but mock them.
He huffed and then laughed. “You know you’re a fucking piece of work,” he cursed, shifting in his seat, tucking one leg under his body so he could face me. “I don’t know why I even came here. Whatever that was it was a lot more than Micah having to leave. We both know it. And I’m here to be a friend for you, and you can’t even trust me enough to tell me what the fuck happened that’s making you curl up in a ball.” Brandon was more than frustrated, but he was also right.
