I think I’ve earned the right to be a stubborn brat in this scenario,but he's probably right, and I probably need more clothes.I'm not sure what I was thinking.
I guess, in my head, I was going to get out here, get him to sign the papers, thirty seconds, and then I could turn around and go back to the city.
But it took longer to get here than I thought, and, of course, now that the storm has set in, it's not like I can just turn around and go right back home.I'm stuck here.For who knows how long.
He comes back into the room and hands me a pair of sweatpants and a flannel. Even when we lived together in New York, he loved his flannels.I used to steal them all the time, sleep in them, cook in them, wear them out to meet my friends, like a trophy.Look at what I borrowed from my big hunk of husband.
“Do you know how long the storm is going to last?”
He shrugs.“We're looking at probably two days before the roads are clear.”
Great.Two days. With my soon-to-be ex-husband.
Trying to act like this information hasn’t sent me reeling, I lift the clothes he gave me. “Where should I…?”
“Oh,” he says, “you can use the bedroom to change.It's the one that doesn't have a toilet in it.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Yeah, thanks.”
It's a short hallway with only two doors.I push open the bigger of the two.
I'm surprised by the size of the bedroom. A queen-sized bed.Another fireplace, this one with a big reading chair beside it.
I shut the door, immediately aware of how the room smells like Emmett.I know that smell so well. A distant citrus, laundry detergent, the musk of his skin.It's in his clothes and the sheets.I used to press his shirts to my face when I was putting away his laundry, loving the smell.
I shake myself out of it, peel off my wet clothes. I’m not really sure what to do with them, so I spread them out on the floor in front of the fire, where they’ll dry the fastest.
I get dressed quickly, painfully aware of the feel of Emmett’s clothes on the bare skin between my legs.
Emmett must hear my footsteps in the hallway because as soon as I walk into the kitchen, he says,“I’m making coffee.”His shoulders are hunched, his body turned away from me as he presses buttons on a small coffee maker, enough for just a few cups. Half the size of the coffee maker we used to share at home.
When he turns around, he stops.For just one heartbeat, his eyes scan me from head to toe.And then he looks away.
“Warm enough?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you.” I move further into the small kitchen, the floorboards creaking just slightly under my feet, wrapped in thick wool socks.“I’m sorry to have to impose like this. I feel awful.But as soon as the storm is over, you can sign the papers, and I'll be on my way.I’m sure my car will be?—”
He lets out a long, irritated sigh. “I’m not signing any fucking divorce papers.”
My mouth drops open, and I scoff loudly.“You don't have a say in this.”
He looks just as outraged as I feel. “I’m sorry, you don't think I should get a say in the end of my marriage?”
“Oh, youdidget a say.You left. In the middle of the night. Without a fucking word.And I didn't get a say in that. So this isn't a negotiation, Emmett.You can sign them now, or I can take you to court.And if you don't show up,I'm sure you'll have lots of fun legal issues to deal with. And I don't think they'll appreciate youdealing with those from your fucking cabin in the mountains.Don't make this difficult.You've already made it difficult enough.”
My God, do I recognize the face he pulls then. The clench of his jaw, the way he looks off into the distance and squints his eyes.Oh, yes. That expression,I know well.I saw it all the time.
Brynne, maybe you should cool it.
Brynne, let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Brynne, there's no need to be so angry.
All the time.
Back then, it didn't matter.It didn't matter that sometimes I got on his nerves.At the end of the day, he loved me. He came home, and he held me, and we had dinner together, and we snuggled on the couch, and we shared our lives, and we fucked like crazy.It didn't matter that sometimes I had a little bit of a temper.
But now?That look he's giving me?It doesn't come with all the rest of it.So I want to smother it off his fucking face.
