I just pray that by the time I return Leo hasn’t left for lunch.
I meanhas. That Leohasleft for lunch.
Ok, ma’am. Pep talk time.
This has to stop. Like right. the fuck. now.
I have no business wanting him. Legally, I’m still married. Is that relationship completely over? Yes. But still.
Legally. Married. Marriaged. Filing taxesjuntos.
Wait, we don’t have to do that. We can totally file separately.
We’re filing separately.
FOCUS. PEP TALK.
Chase may refuse to acknowledge it’s over—those papers were served to him, what… three weeks ago? Almost four? Other than him calling to scream at me, I haven’t heard a peep. Before that, I hadn’t heard from him since the day he came barging into the office and Leo shut him down. And before that, the last time I spoke to him was the night before he left for Boston.
Which, when I think about it, is insane.
I’ve been in Grand River, what, five months? Almost six? He refuses to answer my attorney like an adult. Refuses to do anything except throw fits and ghost me in between.
This could have been done by now. Itshouldhave been done. But the reality is that Chase is not a variable I can solve for. He is a wildly unsolvable differential equation I have been trying to linearize my whole adult life.
Escaping Chase is not the reason I want this… whatever this is with Leo. God, no.
But Chase is a heavy, exhausting weight that I’ve carried far too long. And right now, the person who makes me not only feel completely free of that weight, but also beautiful, seen, and just…desired…exactly as I am, is Leo Euler.
This pep talk is not going in the direction I thought it would be going.
But we’ll keep going. Because even though this is not going to plan, it is very much ridiculous and terrifying and feels like the most honest thing I’ve admitted to myself since… well, since I realized my marriage had been a series of compromises in which I was the only one compromising.
I was tired of compromising by giving more of myself than Chase was willing to give.
And, dammit, now I’m tired of compromising by givinglessof myself because Chase is holding me back.
He doesn’t get to make the fucking rules. He doesn’t get to dictate my happiness.I do.I have been living my life according tosomeone else’s thermostat for years—too hot, too cold, and never my hand on the dial.
And since I am the one who dictates my happiness, I have decided that my first order of business as Mistress Dictator(ess?) of Thine Life is to walk out of this bathroom, into Leo’s office, shut the door, and tell him that yes, Professor of Corny Math Puns and A Beautiful, Not-Quite-A-Beard Jawline, I do, in fact,want. that. dick.
The thought is a flare in a midnight field, and everything in me rushes toward the light. I dry my hands, square my shoulders, and head for the door.
Exiting the bathroom,I expect to return to my office and find Leo behind his desk, or, worse case scenario, out to lunch.
What I don’t expect is to be intercepted halfway down the hall by a frantic, stressed out looking Alis. The snap in her voice she usually saves for Dex is gone; what’s left is frayed edge and white knuckles.
“Tori,” she says, pulling me aside. “Have you seen Leo?”
“Earlier, why?” The look on her face is terrifying. “Is everything okay?”
“Dexter has been trying to get ahold of him for about an hour, and he’s not answering his phone.”
Weird. But also, not the end of the world?
“I’ve been proctoring a test, so I haven’t seen him since this morning. Have you checked the office?”
“I did. He’s not there.” She’s wringing her hands together, looking around every which way. Something is obviously very, very wrong.
