I push the door open, but I don’t bother to grab my suitcase. I’ll grab it tomorrow.
My muscles are tense from the drive, and I’m sore all over.
Including places I wish I wasn’t, right now, because it’s just another reminder of all the ways I’ve been hurt. It’s just another reminder of him.
I push the memory away, running a hand through my hair as I walk up the steps. I just want to crash in my bed. Wake up and realize this was all some dream…
The flowers are starting to brown, the grass high and full of weeds.
Of course, I wasn’t here to mow the lawn and tend to the weeds, and Savannah wouldn’t be caught dead pushing a lawn mower unless it was for a photoshoot.
I make a mental note to take care of it tomorrow, before I realize what I’m doing.
Slipping back into the role I’ve been playing for years. Fuck the grass. Fuck it all to hell.
I open the door, noting the hallway lights are on.
The door shuts and I hear her laugh. I stop dead in my tracks.
I can’t remember the last time I heard Savannahlaugh.
But her voice isn’t the only one I hear. She rounds the bend, and everything moves in slow motion.
She’s dressed in some black lacey bra and panties, a short kimono robe wrapped loosely around her.
I watch as some man chases her down, picking her up like a damn ragdoll and throwing her on the counter.Mykitchen counter. Where I fucking cook us dinner.
I watch as she grabs his hair, arching her back, pulling him to her breasts as she wraps her legs around his cut, defined waist.
“Honey, I’m home,” I bite, my voice so dark I don’t even think I recognize it.
“Fuck!” she screeches, scrambling off the counter. Her hand shoves his bare chest away from her and I realize he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.
“Austen, what the hell are you—”
“I could ask you the same question, Savannah.”
I take two steps forward, noting the surprise and worry on her face.
But it’s soon replaced with a look I’ve come to know well.
“I—”
“What did you think you could just—”
“You were gone, what was I supposed to do?” She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t think you were coming home.”
“And you didn’t even call,” I snap.
“I was respecting your space,” she huffs.
“Respecting my space?” I laugh. I actually laugh. “Is this what respecting my space looks like? You with your legs wrapped around some guy who isn’t your husband?”
She gasps, affronted by my outburst like I’ve just told her pink is so last season.
“You didn’t call me either, Austen, don’t try to act like this is all my fault. It’s not. You—”
“Do not blame me,” I hiss as I step closer. Savannah flinches, stepping back, and for a moment I think she actually cares. But that moment is fleeting because she steps up to me, all five foot four of her, and yells back at me.
