I call for Dixie, and she ignores me. Sighing, I walk over to the dog and grab her collar. She puts on the brakes, refusing tobe moved. Avery laughs, then cuts herself off as if she doesn’t want to be caught finding anything funny in my presence. I end up picking up the dog and carrying her out of the house, the manuscript wedged between my chest and Dixie’s.
Avery stands beside the front door. I pass her and turn around when I step outside. I open my mouth to speak, but Avery beats me to it.
“I don’t think we should see each other again, Gabriel.”
Panic crawls up my throat. I can’t lose her again.
She must read my expression, because she says, “It has the potential to be messy. And I”—she shakes her head slowly—“I can’t do messy.” She presses three fingers to her lower lip, and says, “Getting over you nearly killed me. I won’t survive a second time.”
The admission takes my breath away. Not just the words, but the way she says them. Confident, certain, and vulnerable. She’s different than she was before, in a way that’s hard to put my finger on.
“I understand,” I tell her, and it’s a half-truth, which also makes it a half-lie. I understand her words, but I don’t agree with them. She’d never need to get over me a second time, because I would never, ever do what I did the first time.
Avery’s gaze drops to the ground as she closes the door, as if she can’t bear to look at me one last time. I set Dixie down and we walk home.
The manuscript is heavy in my grasp, weighing so much more than just a handful of ounces. I went for a run, but I feel like I’ve completed a triathlon instead.
I make a pitcher of iced tea. I take it onto the back porch with me, ice cubes clinking in my glass. Dixie lies down nearby. Settling into the chair, I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself.
I open the manuscript to the first page, and begin to read.
CHAPTER 5
GABRIEL
More.
It’s the first thought I have when I finish reading.
I want more story.
More Avery. These words are her heart, her soul, wrung out like a soaking wet towel. As I read, I heard her speaking.
The 8 1/2 x 11 bundle of paper lies on my lap. It is still open to the last page, the final words of the half-finished manuscript shining like a beacon.
Well played, dear sister.
I blow a hard breath and shake my head. It’s not surprising Camryn would stick her nose in Avery’s business. She’s done it before.
My second thought is more like fifty thoughts all arriving at the same time. Awe, surprise, hurt, embarrassment, jealousy. To name a few.
Somehow, though the story isn’t all that joyful, I smiled in a handful of parts. Despite the agony in it all, there is happiness.
I read all afternoon and into the evening. The remaining shreds of sunlight disappeared a few minutes ago. Deep purpleand pink bruise the last of the day’s sky, the shadows of the pine trees lengthening. Through those trees, is Avery.
My ex-wife.
The author of this book. Our story.
She’s captured our relationship here on these pages, but not perfectly. Not completely. She doesn’t know what it was like for me to step into a burning home, to hurry up the stairs and find her on the floor. She doesn’t know I fell in love with her right away, long before I said the words. She doesn’t know the excruciating pain of being the executioner of your own marriage.
A faraway light shines through the trees. It’s her backyard light. Knowing she’ll be there for the next two weeks sends a sharp pain through my chest. I want to put eyes on her, even if her gaze holds nothing but anger. At least it isn’t pity. For the last few months of our marriage, all her eyes held was pity, and I didn’t deserve it.
I think I would’ve preferred her fury.
It’s how I knew I needed to let her go. Avery would have gritted out the time, and I couldn’t allow that. She was meant to soar, and I’d clipped her wings.
I don’t think we should see each other again, Gabriel.
