“You don’t look better,” he said softly. “And I’m certainly not better.” Ouch. He wasn’t wrong. I probably looked like hell with my unbrushed hair, swollen eyes, and mismatched sweats. A total mess. But he wasn’t talking about that. He meant my soul. It was crushed. And he could see it. He just didn’t know the details.
“George…” I started, wanting to stop him, but the familiar comfort of his touch tugged at me. After all the pain and confusion, being near him felt so… safe. His hand moved down my arm until his fingers intertwined with mine. Then, with his free hand, he pulled something from his pocket. My breath hitched when I saw it. Our wedding ring.
Shit.
He kissed my hand before sliding the ring back onto my finger. It felt heavy. I remembered the day I took it off, the flood of guilt and failure crashing over me. I felt it all over again.
George held my hand between his, his eyes locking onto mine.
“Hold on to this for me, will you?” he whispered. “To see how it feels. And when I’m back, if you still want to give it back… I won’t bother you anymore. Okay?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. My mind wasn’t clear, not after the last few weeks. I wanted so badly for things to be simple again—to believe this could work, that I could make it work. No Hollywood chaos, no alternate realities. Just George. The father of my children. My husband.
His lips curled into a small smile, but there was no victory in it—just quiet hope. He let go of my hand, leaned in, and kissed my forehead. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
I stayed there, frozen, staring at the doorway long after he was gone, trying to process everything. I was still standing there when I noticed movement across the hall.
Carol.
She was leaning casually against the doorframe of the room opposite mine with her arms crossed.
“I gave you two weeks,” she announced as she entered my room. “That’s enough. We are going out tonight. Do you hear me?”
“Oh, Carol, please,” I groaned, flopping back onto my bed and pressing my fingers to my temples for dramatic effect. “I have a migraine. I’m not going anywhere.”
She wasn’t buying it. She never did.
“It’s a Paramore show,” she said flatly. “You’re going.”
Wait.What?My head snapped up.
“Paramore is in town?”
Carol grinned, knowing she’d won.
“Yep. And you’re coming with Victoria and me.” She strolled over to my closet and yanked the doors open like she owned the place.
I wanted to goso bad.I would give anything to hear Hayley Williams live. The idea of tequila shots, screaming lyrics, and losing myself in the music was exactly what I needed. I would not have kids to worry about, no George or Chris.
Fuck it.I hesitated for maybe half a second before nodding.
“Okay… fine.”
Carol spun around, grinning wider. “Perfect. Let’s find you something slutty to wear.”
She grabbed my hands and dragged me into her room. The second I stepped inside, my eye twitched. Chaos. Absolute fucking chaos. Clothes everywhere. Half-packed suitcases. A pile of clean laundry, she had definitely been living out of instead of putting it away. I locked eyes with Carol, trying so hard not to look around.
Don’t look at the mess. Don’t do it.
“What are we doing here?” I asked.
“Itoldyou—you need slutty clothes.”
“Ihaveclothes.”
“Not slutty ones. Not anymore, anyway…” she muttered, flipping through her closet before abandoning that and heading straight for the mountain of outfits on her bed.
I sighed. “I’m not looking to hook up with anyone tonight. I just want to have fun.”
