“Don’t do this, Tilly. Not without us having a real adult conversation about what to do next,” Ethan calls, still following.
“You’re not understanding that there’s no conversation to be had here. We’re done. That’s it. I don’t give cheaters second chances. Never have, and never will. It doesn’t matter if we’re married. Actually, yes, it does. It makes what you’ve done that much worse.”
“It was one mistake. Was I not allowed to makeany?”
There isn’t an appropriate answer to that. Not that I can think of, at least.
“I’ll have my lawyer reach out to you. I suggest you find one too,” I say, my words clipped and to the point.
I pop open my SUV’s tailgate and haul my suitcase into the back before tossing my boots in beside it. Pulling the door back down, I glance behind me to the ugly-ass car still parked along the curb. The sound of footsteps on the wet snow turns my muscles to lead.
“You could have hit my baby in the head when you shut the door on us!”
I freeze at the driver’s side of my vehicle.Inhale, exhale.I’m not necessarily a violent person despite being slightly aggressive. Not anymore. What happened with Ethan hasn’t happened ina long time.I don’t need to beat this woman’s ass.Nope. Especially not in front of a baby.
I’m not teenage Tilly chasing the high of earning a smile of approval from her brother’s best friend anymore.
Without looking at my husband’s baby mama, I pull open my door and get inside the SUV. Then, I turn it on and crank the heat despite the flames beneath my skin. She’s still standing behind the vehicle, the baby nowhere to be seen when I look into the rearview mirror.
The last thing I see before peeling away from the house is Ethan joining her, keeping the smallest distance between them. As if that would have ever been enough. Just the sight of them together is cruel enough.
Going home to Oak Point isn’t ideal by any means, but anywhere is better than here. Even if that means facing those that I’ve hidden from for the last ten years.
2
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
TILLY
I hesitate at the door,my knuckles raised and frozen.
It’s been . . .a whilesince I’ve been here. The house is the same as it was the day I left. Other than a few safety improvements, nothing has changed. It’s still painted a dull yellow that makes the single storey look older than it is, and the front window has the crack in the upper left corner from when an eight-year-old Ash threw a baseball at it.
The garden is the most updated part of the property, but then again, my mom’s been nursing plants for as long as I can remember. It wouldn’t surprise me if she got even more into it after I left and wasn’t here for her to baby anymore.
Dad’s truck is behind me, so I know someone’s home. Maybe I had a feeling Mom would be at the camp office at this time and chose when to come accordingly. At least with my dad, it will be easier to leave once I let him know I’m here. I don’t trust that Mom wouldn’t lock me in my old bedroom and swallow the key so I couldn’t leave again.
Glancing over my shoulder at the near-empty gravel drive, I blow out a breath and knock.
Silence follows for long enough that I contemplate trying my old key. I’m reaching into my purse when I hear heavy footsteps inside, coming closer.
The door swings open, and I sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek. Standing at well over six three, my father stares at me like he’s looking into the eyes of a ghost. The surprise in his normally controlled features is blinding, and fuck—it hurts. Guilt sours my stomach as I try to smile and wiggle my fingers.
“Hi, Dad.”
He blinks once, twice, three times before coughing briefly. “Tilly?”
“Yep.”
“You’re home.”
I laugh, glancing down at my suitcase. The heavy bag looped over the extended handle seems to sag a bit under my attention, reminding me that I’ve packed my entire life away inside of it. Ten years of memories shoved inside of it like they never meant all that much to me.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
Dad follows my gaze, his shoulders rising just enough to give away his anxiousness. “Yeah. ’Course you can. You don’t need to ask.”
When he steps aside, I head inside, my suitcase in tow. He clears his throat again and takes the handle from me, hauling it through the doorway with ease, as if it doesn’t weigh a million pounds. I shut the door behind us and eye the house, taking in the familiar sight of it. God, it even smells the same, like clean laundry and the smokiness of a campfire.
