“I thought she’d fight for you. But I guess that is yet another thing I lost. The fight over you. And now you. I can’t believe I’m going to miss you.”
And I can’t believe I’m fucking talking to cats.
I get out and look at the mansion, wondering which room is hers. Is she hiding behind one of the windows? Does she sense I’m here?
My heart beats like a wild animal, hammering against my rib cage as I lift both carriers from the passenger seat and make my way to the door.
It bursts open before I even reach the landing. I look up, full of hope and trepidation, but my gaze collides with Saar’s. A very pissed, glaring Saar.
“Took you long enough.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Can I talk to Cora?” I put down the cats.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Saar, for fuck’s sake, tell her I’m here.”
“She knows. And she would be at the door if she wanted to see you.”
An engine approaches, and we both turn. Corm gets out of his car. “Hey, baby. Everything okay?”
He takes two steps at a time and kisses his wife on the temple.
“You’re home early.” She smiles at him, and thenturns to glare at me. “I was just telling Xander that Cora doesn’t want to talk to him.”
“Fuck, Saar—” I growl.
“Measure your words, fuckwit. This is my wife you’re talking to.” Corm narrows his eyes.
Saar takes the two carriers and leaves, closing the door behind her.
“How the fuck should I fix it if she doesn’t want to see me?”
Corm shrugs. “I’m sorry, man. I’ll talk to Saar and…” He trails off, because Corm Quinn doesn’t make empty promises.
I get back to my car and drive off, knowing that I have just left behind my only negotiating chip. Or two of them.
But then, this is not a negotiation. This is not a sprint to complete. This is a marathon, and I may have hit burnout, but fuck, I’m going to complete this race, even if it takes me years.
I miss her.
I miss the fucking cats.
I preserved the dead flowers.
Yeah, I bought a spray to preserve dry flowers, cursing myself for not taking care ofthem sooner.
I have written her ten letters so far. And I’m checking the mailbox for her replies, even though I have sent none of them.
Life moves with fragile tranquility, the world around me flowing unchanged. I haven’t been to work for the past three days.
Instead, I took a shower. I wrote letter after letter. They feel more like journaling… getting my feelings out. And figuring out how to make her life better.
Because after I dropped Pitt and Clooney, I had a breakthrough. I outlined the worst-case scenario. One where Cora moves on. Without me.
And without a shadow of a doubt, I know I would never fully move on. So my contingency for that bleak scenario is to make her life better. Even if I have to do so from afar.
It’s nowhere near being with her.
