Tuesday launches into a full Southern rant about lazy men and wasted potential. I let it wash over me while lining up soup cans and bread on the counter. “I mean, I’m married to the greatest guy on earth. And he’s a firefighter paramedic, but don’t think if he sufferedan injury that beer and electrical tape wouldn’t be the first thing he grabbed.”
“Tuesday.” I giggle. But she’s probably not wrong. Yet, my life is already a tornado. I don’t have the energy to handle Brad on top of everything else.
“I can’t deal with him right now. It’s just… Mom, money, the awful job, and trying to get into school. Arguing with Brad will have to come later,” I whisper.
“Oh, honey,” she murmurs. “Is there anything I can do? You want me to come up there and kick him to the curb for ya?”
“No.” I snicker. “But if the neighbor can watch Mom one weekend, I’ll let you know, and we can plan something.”
“Okay, babe. Keep your chin up. The world has a way of knocking the pretty off your plans if you let it. So don’t let it!”
After we hang up, Brad finally looks at me.
“C’mon,” he says, giving himself a lazy stroke. “It’s been a long time since you gave me a blowy.”
My stomach lurches.Is he for real?“I’m making dinner,” I say flatly, turning away. “You didn’t work today?”
“Rained.” Construction. I used to feel sorry for how he had to deal with the relentless elements of severe heat and cold. But over the last year, it seems as if he’s home more than he’s at any jobsite.
He wanders into the kitchen later, eyes the soup, and frowns. “Why can’t you ever make real food?”
“Because real food costs money,” I snap. “You could help, you know.”
“I’m saving for tools. And if you’d just apply for modeling jobs, we’d be rolling in it.”
“I’ve told you that’s not happening. I’m no model. And hard work is reliable.” This guy. He’s been going on and on about how I could make it big in modeling since the day we met. I thought it was a pick-up line at first. Now I can’t help but wonder if it’s merely another way to attempt to free load off of me.
He scoffs. “Yeah. I’ll starve on your honest day’s pay.” Brad stormsout. Probably back to Tinder. Or does he prefer jacking off to Maverick and the Iceman?
Two days later,I come home to silence.
No TV.
No couch.
None of his clothes in the closet. The drawers are empty.
He even gutted our freaking pantry.
He’s gone.
And he took almost everything with him.
3
BEN
I should go home.That’s the truth I’ve been dancing around since Chanel walked out of my life like it was nothing more than a failed Tinder match. If it were up to me, I’d already be on a flight back to England, back to the familiar. The comfortable certainty of family money and inherited position within the business. I groan. Because I’d never hear the end of it.
My stepfather wouldn’t give me too hard a time. He might jab a little. Yet Devon would never tire of the endless jokes. He’d use it as proof that I couldn’t hack it on my own.
My mother would welcome me with sympathetic smiles that felt too much like pity. And I’d spend the rest of my life wondering if I’d really failed or if I’d simply been too afraid to work for something of my own. If I’d merely used Chanel as an excuse to go back and take the easy way out.
So, for now, I stay.
I stay in Hanover, with a half-furnished rental and my pride duct-taped together. It’s only been a few months since the breakup, but it still feels fresh. Still aches in the moments when I’m alone with my thoughts, or passing couples laughing over coffee. Hell, we never even went out for coffee. We didn’t share a beverage to connect before or after work at home.
At first, everything with Chanel had felt effortless. There was easy chemistry between us. She seemed genuinely excited to see me without being clingy. She was supportive of my goals without trying to reshape them,or me, into something else. Our relationship felt mature. In hindsight, I can’t help wondering if she was like all the rest. How much of what she loved was me, and how much was my bank account.
