I shake my head. “No. I’ve got it.”
I swallow, find the handle, wrap my fingers around the metal. It’s cool and solid and real under my palm. My reflection stares back—eyes a little too bright, mouth too tight, hair behaving for once.At least something is working for me today.I look like a woman on a mission. Not a desperate woman looking to escape her marriage, but a woman taking control of her life and her future. I do not feel like her. Maybe that’s okay. Fake it til you make it? Done.
Let them whisper. Let the building shine and the letters gleam and the pumps pinch. Let my hands shake. Let my heart race.
I’m getting divorced, bitches.
TWELVE
TORI
Past
I’m notsure when I drifted off, but the slam of the front door jerks me awake like a gunshot. My heart launches into my throat as I bolt upright on the couch, the blanket tangled around my legs. The room is dark, except for the glow of the TV screen still playing some rerun I wasn’t watching.
“God fucking dammit.”
Chase. I hear him in the foyer, tripping over his own feet as he stumbles to take off his shoes. I hear his body slam against the entry table, keys dropping to the floor instead of hanging on the hook next to the coat closet.
He’s drunk. Of course he’s drunk. Still mumbling to himself, Chase turns the corner into the living room and stops short when he sees me sitting there. For a moment, I’m not sure if he realizes it’s me. His body halts, but his words continue as if he’s been conversing with the person in front of him the entire time.
He reeks of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. Something sour—vomit, maybe?—clings to his clothes. I can’t remember the last time he was so drunk that he threw up, but I also can’t rememberthe last time he smoked. His drinking has grown worse over the years, and I’ve tried to talk to him about it, to no avail.
I used to try everything—pouring the bottles out, hiding them, begging him to stop. At some point, you stop playing tug-of-war when the other person drops the rope.
Tonight, though? Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he asks, breaking his monologue of “Of fucking course this would happen” sentiments.
I rise slowly, unsure of whether I should speak or wait. My heart is already pounding in my chest, my hands clutching the blanket like a shield.
“I asked you a question, goddammit!”
Speak it is, then. “What happened?” I ask gently, trying not to further agitate the situation. “Are you okay?”
He scoffs, then laughs—a bitter, broken sound that holds no real humor.
“Just. Fucking. Peachy,” he spits, taking a mocking stance, hands on his hips and venom in his tone. “Everything in my life is fucking perfect.”
I literally don’t know how to respond to this. So I wait.
Tossing his arms in the air, Chase shouts, “I’m going to be a fucking uncle!”
Oh.Oh.
My throat goes dry. “Trent and Fallon?”
He nods, jerky and exaggerated. “Yep. Trent and Fallon. Golden boy and his golden girl. Knocked up and glowing. Of course they are.”
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I lower myself back onto the couch slowly. I’m happy for Trent and Fallon—truly, I am—but if there is one person in this world who sets off Chase’s insecurities and feelings of inadequacy more than anyone else, it’s his little brother.
“Chase, I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard to hear,” I saysoftly, trying to sound steady, even though my body is already bracing for impact.
“Hard to hear?” His voice climbs, sharper now. “Hard to hear? Jesus fucking Christ, Tori. Do you even fucking get it?”
He starts pacing, hands clenching and unclenching like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
“It doesn’t fucking matter what I do. That punk-ass kid will always be a step ahead of me. He bought a house before I did. He made partner before I did. And now he’s having a goddamn baby before me. Beforeus.”
