My jaw tenses. “Oh, you mean your love and affection? I shouldn’t have to ask for those things. Those things should be easy to give.”
She gapes at me like I’m the asshole, and maybe I am. Because I can’t stop the flurry of seven years of suffering unleashing itself.
“Maybe if you looked up from your fucking phone once in awhile, you’d notice I stopped begging you for your goddamn attention years ago. I don’t need it now,” I bite. “Not that you’d give it, anyway, unless it benefited you in some way.”
“You think I’m selfish?” she snaps.
“If the Louboutin fits,” I hiss.
“You never think of anyone but yourself. It’s all aboutyou,isn’t it? You need all the attention so you can feel seen. You’re so fuckingneedy.God.”
Needy? Me? All I’ve ever done is shelf my own damn needs!
Before I can respond, she sets her hands on her hips and glares at me.
“You just can’t let me be successful and happy, because oh, what aboutyou? Boo fucking hoo. Cry me a river, Austen.”
I zip up the suitcase, my blood hot, and my stomach in knots.
I can’t do this with her. I fucking can’t.
It’s not the first time we’ve had this fight.
And it won’t be the last.
So I do the grown-up thing. I push past her, throw my travel bag in the front pocket of my suitcase, zip it up and grab it to head for the door.
“Where the fuck do you think you are going?” she yells, her voice panicked.
“Anywhere but here.” I say solidly. A part of me breaks, hearing the shakiness in my voice.
I grab the keys to the Escalade out of the bowl and throw open the door. Lightning strikes and the rain pours, but I keep going, keep moving. I don’t expect Savannah to leave the warm, dry house and chase after me.
If I open my mouth, I’m going to lose it and start crying.
Just once, I wish she would forget about her insecurities and expectations, and leave her comfortable bubble. The bubbleIbuilt for her with the choices I made.
God, we’re like a shitty Hallmark movie in reverse. Big City Fashion Girl and Small Town Boy Next Door get married and become fucking strangers.
I want tomatter.I want to be enough.Tears sting my eyes as I realize I will never be enough for Savannah.
And maybe I never was to begin with.
“Austen!” she yells, but her voice is far away. I unlock the trunk, throwing my suitcase in the back. The rain picks up, practically drowning me. I open the driver side door and start the car.
“Austen Thomas Brewer you get your ass back here right now!” Savannah hollers, but her pleas are lost on me.
Maybe a better man would listen, would stay and try to work it out.
But I’mnota good man. Clearly. Because I don’t want to work it out.
I just want to get as far away from this place as I can, so I can breathe.
Her vicious words echo in my brain.
You don’t take risks, Austen. It’ll never happen, because you need everything to be perfect, and it’ll never be perfect.
I shove the words down, a sob threatening to escape my throat. The radio is loud, blasting the croony sounds of CallumScott’s version of “Dancing On My Own,”and I have to smirk through the tears because the name’s so similar, and the words are a sort of balm. Like a fucking sign.
