And then he left. Again.
It's not like I lost anything I thought I had. We've been divorced for what feels like a lifetime. I knew in my gut he hadn't changed. So why is it torturing me? I hate myself for going there.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I toss my phone aside on the comforter and press my forearm so hard into my eyes that sparks dance behind my eyelids.
"Stop thinking about him," I whisper to the empty room. "Just stop."
But the hollow ache in my chest won't let me. A lump rises in my throat, and I fight to swallow it down. No more tears for Dr. Woody Beamer. I've given him enough.
My phone buzzes against the blanket, startling me from my thoughts. The screen illuminates with a name I've been avoiding for weeks.
Jerry. Christ.
My finger hovers over the decline button. It's nearly midnight. Nothing good comes from midnight calls with any man, especially him.
But the silence presses in, and suddenly I can't bear another minute alone with my thoughts about Woody. At least Jerry wants to be with me. At least he calls. At least he stays.
I swipe to answer.
"Hey, Jer." My voice comes out soft, tentative, like it belongs to someone else.
"Lane? I hope I didn't wake you." Jerry's familiar voice fills the line, smooth and warm. "I was just tossing and turning, thinking about you, and thought I'd try."
I shift against the pillows, pulling my knees to my chest. "It's late. Normally, I would be sleeping, but I was looking at pictures."
"I saw you on TV yesterday. It's so impressive what Sanders has done." A pause for just a moment before he continues. "You looked beautiful."
The compliment slides over me, not quite landing where it might if someone else deliveredit. That's always been our problem. His words touch the surface but never reach where I need them to.
"Thanks. We're really in shock at how this has unfolded. It's been a whirlwind, for sure." I pick at a loose thread on the comforter. We? Seriously. I'm officially insane.
"Woody must've loved playing the hero on national television."
The jab lands exactly where he intended. My jaw tightens, but I force my voice to stay even.
"He let Sanders do all the shining. He's already back at work."
Jerry chuckles knowingly. "Of course he is."
I don't rise to the bait, but my chest constricts. Jerry always knew exactly which buttons to push about Woody, sliding into the gaps my ex-husband left behind. That's always been his superpower.
"I miss you. The house is empty without you dropping by." He pauses. "I was thinking maybe when you get back, we could talk?"
My eyes drift to the doorway where Woody and I argued last night. The ache in my chest intensifies.
"Jerry, I?—"
"I know what you're going to say. Just let me see you. It's Christmas and I can't bear the thought of not seeing you over the holidays."
"Don't do this, not now." I keep my voice firm but gentle. The last thing I need is to slip into something easy to fill the ache in my chest. That's how we ended up together for so many years.
"Don't you miss what we had at all?" Jerry's voice drops lower, that banker's confidence shining through. "We were good together, Lane. I will work on whatever you need me to do. I want to be the man you need."
I close my eyes, exhaling through my nose. The heater kicks on, its low hum filling the silence between us.
"Jerry, we talked about this. We were good together in many ways, but we both agreed we aren't good for the long haul. You don't need to change, you're amazing just the way you are. We just don't fit."
