He steps onto the thick, braided mat outside the door, turning back to respond, but I don’t think he realized that I’ve followed him out the door. I’m not expecting the sudden stop and do my best to avoid falling into him, which means I’m going to have to fall into something else, and there is nothing but the floor.
His hands catch me, wrapping around me and steadying me. I grip his arms, my inhale sharp. We freeze, caught in the pause between seconds, uncertain and surprised.
Warner sucks in a deep, slow breath. He takes a step back, releasing me, and I swear to the man upstairs I can feel, taste, hear, and see his reluctance.
“Right.” His voice is charred. “Friends.” He takes another step, then two more, turning and walking back to his truck.
No high-five. He left me hanging.
16
Warner
I’ve always beengood with words. In high school I considered being on the debate team, but decided I’d rather use my talent to have good conversation, not win an argument.
What happened just now with Tenley was the opposite of being good with words. I think it was because I touched her. Caught her. Felt her softness in my hands and lost the connection between my brain and my mouth.
Yes, that’s what it was. My brain couldn’t focus on responding to her high-five in the appropriate and expected manner because it was too busy going haywire.
Against all good sense, I don’t want to be herfriend.
It seems impossible, but I want more. From someone who isn’t Anna. That’s what really has me hung up. Wanting someone who isn’t Anna is inconceivable. This is the part of me where fidelity lives, deep inside in the inner sanctum of my heart.
Therein lies the problem. My brain and my heart are in disagreement. My brain knows it’s okay to like Tenley. To see her face and feel happy, to see her smile and automatically produce one of my own. That kiss was a snap decision, a choice not made with my heart or brain, but with my desire. Sneaky devil.
I pull out onto the road that leads to town and grab my phone, dialing the number of the one person who can help me out of the clusterfuck inside me.
“Warner? Is everything okay?” Worry threads through her voice. I don’t blame her. There’s no reason for me to call her, except about the two things we share.Our kids.
“Everything is fine, Anna.” I’m quick to assure her, because she’s always been a worrier. Anxious. “I just… well…” I don’t know how to say it, and now that I’ve called her, I sort of wish I hadn’t. Too late now, though, so I go for it. “Who is he?”
She sucks in a breath. I can hear it through the phone, sharp and surprised. “His name is Jordan.” She sounds reluctant. I don’t blame her. I don’t particularlywantto be doing this either, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that Ineedit.
I press on. “How did you meet him? Jordan.” I say his name, trying it on. It feels like prickly pear cactus in my mouth.
“Warner, I—”
I can tell she is about to implore me to stop, and I can’t let that happen. “Anna, I think you owe me this much.”
She’s quiet. She knows I’m right. Her sigh pushes through the phone, heavy, and she begins. “He struggled also. I met him at Harmony.”
My breath sticks in my throat. I remember the way Harmony looked the day we left Anna there. It’d be nice if the memory grew fuzzy, burned a little around the edges, but it hasn’t yet.
“How long?” Another question I don’t want the answer to, but really fucking need.
A long pause. “Fairly recent, Warner.” She doesn’t sound soft and apologetic now. Her voice grows in strength, it’s muscles flexing, steeling for a confrontation. “It didn’t happen on purpose, okay? It just… happened.”
I laugh bitterly. “So says every person who accidentally fell for someone else while they were married.”
“Give me a little more credit than that. We weren’t without our share of problems before I went to Harmony, and you know it.” She sighs. “Jordan didn’t break up a happy marriage.”
Ouch.
I look out the window as I drive, my eyes on Hayden land but not really seeing it. Instead, I see pictures of our relationship, snippets of joyful moments, and then they are replaced by darker memories. My own resentment when I couldn’t coax Anna from bed. Couldn’t make her smile, no matter what I did. How broken I began to feel, how I started to see myself as a failure.
“I’m sorry, Warner. I really am. I know it sounds like so little, especially in the grand scheme of things. My therapist says it’s important I own my part of everything, and I want you to know I’m aware that most of what happened is my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.” I’m so quick to defend her, even to her. An old habit dying hard, I guess. “You had a mental illness.” Had or have? I don’t know. It’s been so long since she’s discussed the details of her mental state with me.
