“You okay over there?” Jason asks, worry coursing through his voice.
“I’m not a hundred percent, but I will be.”
“If you ever need to get out and talk, you know you can always call me. We could head to the mountains for a hike, if you’d like—we haven’t done that in a while.”
“I’d love to, but I’m hoping to finish my home office this weekend. But I’ll let you know when I’m free next.”
“Sounds good, mate.”
We talk for another ten minutes, catching up on the things we’ve missed and exchanging updates on his ex-wife’s court case, which has been delayed once again after new information and witnesses came to light. I can tell it’s weighing heavily on my best friend, and he wishes it would all just come to an end, but unfortunately, life rarely works that way.
Even so, I’m glad it hasn’t affected his relationship with Mila. If anything, it’s only strengthened the connection between them.
I drive straight home after the phone call and fall into my usual evening routine—dinner, shower, and TV. But even as I try to focus on the crime show playing on the screen, my thoughts keep wandering back to Skylar and Heath’s wedding in just a few months.
It’s hard not to picture the gown she’ll wear, the smile on her face as she walks down the aisle, or their first kiss as husband and wife—without it hurting deeply.
Will it be bigger and better? Drama-free? Will she look happier than she did on our wedding day?
I guess I’ll never know.
Suddenly, all the feelings I’ve held on to over the past year and a half come rushing back. They crash over me like a tidal wave, powerful and intense.
But instead of craving a drink, instead of cracking open a beer, I grab a pen and notepad from the kitchen drawer and sink into the dining chair.
Within minutes, my hand moves across the page, scribbling word after word, sentence after sentence, as if it has a mind of its own.
Two hours later, my hand, and neck aching like they’re riddled with arthritis, I finally set the pen down and turn the paper back to the beginning.
The first page glares up at me—messy, chaotic, words crossed out and rewritten, a tangle of my thoughts made visible on paper.
I take a slow, steadying breath, stretching the tension out from my right hand and neck. Once it eases even just a fraction, I glance back at the notepad and begin reading from the top.
Dearest Skylar...
Chapter 17
Hope
Adrian walks through the café door with a tired look on his face, his dark green jacket practically swallowing his now smaller frame. He’s lost weight, I can tell that much, and the dark circles under his eyes suggest he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days. Even the small smile he offers me looks weak and strained, and for a split second, I almost feel sorry for him.
I finally agreed to meet him after he called me two nights ago, drunk and hysterical—and because Adrian has never been one to drink, let alone to the point of intoxication, it unsettled me more than I care to admit. The entire thing felt strangely out of character. I knew he wasn’t doing too well. I just didn’t realise it had gotten this bad.
After doing everything I could to avoid my ex-husband for the past three weeks, I knew it was only a matter of time before we’d have to sit across from each other and finally have the talk—the one about our future.
I’ve been dreading this moment for weeks. Though it’s the middle of August and the air still holds the chill of late winter, my body burns hot and flushed. Seeing Adrian again drags up every emotion I felt the last time we stood in the same room together. But this is a conversation that can’t be avoided any longer. I just want it over with so I can finally begin moving on with my life.
We arranged to meet at a café closer to my parents’ house, somewhere I’d feel safer and more comfortable talking to him. That way, if things went pear-shaped, I could leave and be home in minutes. And I doubt Adrian would dare step foot on my parents’ property if he tried to follow me.
He insisted we meet at our usual café, the same one he took his mistress to every morning before work, and I shut that down immediately. It used to be my favourite place to go with my family, but now it’s tainted beyond repair. I’ll never be able to walk in there again without imagining him and his lover tucked away at a corner table, whispering, laughing and touching like reckless, horny teenagers.
Just thinking about it is enough to turn my stomach.
Adrian slips into the chair across from me, his movements slow and cautious, as though one wrong move might send me running out the door. I lean back in my seat, arms crossed over my chest in a display of strength and composure, even though beneath it all I’m quietly breaking. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting him see that. He doesn’t deserve my pain, or the satisfaction of watching me break. He deserves nothing from me anymore.
“You look well,” he says.
“I wish I could say the same for you.”
