It was a woman; older than me, tall, wavy chestnut hair, feline-like grey eyes. She smelt like lavender, smiled like the stars were tucked beneath the curve of her lips.
Oh.
My stomach dropped. And for some reason, a dull ache twisted through my ribs. Surely, I couldn’t be heartbroken right now. I didn’t even have the right to, no matter how selfish and shameless I was. Did I expect him to still hold on to me, not move on, and welcome me with open arms whenever I showed up at his doorstep like this?
“Hi,” I forced out, my voice strained.
“Hello.” The woman stepped out fully, shutting the door behind her. She was wearing a white cotton robe, the one that had Rowan, embroidered into the neck. The one I gifted to him.
I swallowed, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Um, I’m looking for Rowan. Rowan McRae.”
The woman’s brows furrowed. “And you are?”
I ignored the question. “Does he still live here?”
“Yes.”
“Can you just tell him to check his email?” The words came out tight, forced. “It’s–it’s really urgent.”
She hesitated. “Who are you?”
My jaw clenched. Why must she interrogate me? It was just a simple message. “Just tell him to check his email, please.”
Then I turned sharply, barely holding myself together as I hurried down the steps, my vision blurry.
A chuckle rang inside my mind, it dragged on for an annoying 20 seconds.“You’re such a clown, Beth Fraser. Look at you, playing victim.”
Rowan had moved on without me. As he should. He deserved better. But why was this reality such a bitter pill to swallow?
I wanted him to move on. I needed him to be happy, be with someone better. Someone better than I could ever dream of becoming. Besides, I had a huge crush on someone else now, someone I had sworn Rowan didn’t hold a candle to when it came to beauty and charisma.
Was I hurting right now? Or was this a normal reaction to seeing your ex moving on to someone new?
“But you moved on too, Beth,”the word echoed in my head.“You like someone else now. You have been thinking about him for days.”
Callan Raskov.
But I hadn’t heard from him since that day. Not a call, not a single text. It was like he vanished into thin air, like he never even existed.
His reaction at the parking lot that day was the truest form of a man in agony, a man fighting an inner demon ripping his soul apart. But I couldn’t tell what the agony was. A chronic illness? A form of panic attack? I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t have a means of reaching out to him. Yes, I had his phone number. But I must have called a hundred times now. It was unreachable. So I held onto the part where he said he would call me as soon as he could.
But it had been ten days and I hadn’t heard from him. I didn’t need anyone to spell it out to me. That was probably his goodbye.
“No man will ever choose you,”Mother’s voice sliced through my thoughts.“Even if he did, he will realise you carry this darkness inside you and walk away.”
I hated it when Mother was right.
???
I stepped into the house, locking the door behind me, my head resting on the hard wood.
Mother was out working, spreading the gospel of Christ somewhere, perhaps. So the house was quiet. It was alwaysquiet. But this time, the silence echoed. I could hear my own thoughts. And I hated my thoughts right now.
Raising my head off the door, I kicked my sneakers off and walked to the kitchen, my limbs moving on their own. My eyes burned, but I wasn’t sure why I wanted to cry. That Rowan moved on, or that Callan Raskov was too good to be true after all? I thought the latter hurt the most. He was so beautiful and kind. He was so cute, I just wanted to hug him so tightly.
I grabbed a loaf of bread and set it on the counter. I opened the peanut butter jar and fetched a knife.
The three things were in front of me.
