Willow drops off paninis within twenty minutes, and I’m happy she brought extra because I eat my weight in them, realizing I haven’t eaten at all today.
I think I’m still a little in shock that Arlo fixed my entire workshop in less than a day while I was freaking out, emailing customers, and sleeping. I may still be in shock that the place got trashed in the first place.
I wouldn’t have believed the mysterious texter was the same person who did this if not for the creepy-as-hell note left behind.
The sensation of whiplash feels like an apt description for the latest day of my life. Whatever good Arlo has brought into my life currently feels like it’s being quickly ripped out from underneath me by this sleazeball. It’s one thing to send anonymous texts but another entirely to destroy someone’s property because of some misguided thoughts of ownership. For God’s sake, what fucking century are we in anyway?
“You want to talk about it?” Arlo asks as we finish our food.
“Not really, but hiding from things has never really solved anything.” I wince as I hear the words I said back, not realizing I just inadvertently called out Arlo. “That wasn’t directed at you,” I add quickly.
“I know, but you’re also not wrong. I looked over everything you sent me, and I’m really struggling with the fact you didn’t think to come tome about it, regardless of where we stand together. This is something serious that you should have taken to the police, to me, not brushed aside because you thought it was harmless.” He’s getting worked up; I can tell by the vein slightly popping in his neck.
“As I already explained,Sheriff Arlo,I blocked it and moved on. They didn’t attempt to contact me again, and I wasn’t worried. I clearly should have been, but I didn’t think it would escalate to…” I gesture over to the workshop, and my head fills with images of my work demolished. Everything I’ve built and worked so damn hard on gone in an instant, and the tears rush out once again.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to lecture you.” He scoots over next to me and pulls me into him. “I have never been as scared as I was when I picked up that phone. I would smash into ten more trees, fuck up my back twenty times over, rather than hear you sobbing on the phone again.” His words are soft, but his meaning is loud, and it shakes me to my core.
My shoulders shake, and I can barely keep another breakdown at bay. I haven’t cried this much in fifteen years, and I’m beyond over it. I know a massive migraine is waiting for me once the dust settles, but that’s a problem for later.
“Please don’t cry anymore. I promise I’ll handle it all. I’ll find this asshole; I’ll take care of him and make sure he never does this to you or any other person again.” The anger in his voice shocks me. As the sheriff, I fully expect him to arrest someone like this if he gets enough evidence and all that, but this feels different. This is specific to me.
I shift so I can run my hand along his back, and for once he doesn’t stiffen. “Why are you so worked up about this? We can figure outwho it is, and then you do your police thing and arrest him. Nothing more, nothing less. This overprotective act is a bit much, even for you,” I joke.
He looks at me then, staring deep into my eyes like he’s seeing into my soul. I’m so lost in his gaze I almost miss what he says in his whispered tone.
“It’s different because you’re my wife, and I need to protect you.”
I jolt back before stumbling to stand.
“What did you just say?”
The pain I see in his eyes has my heart cracking in two. I don’t understand what this means, and my confusion must be written all over my face.
“Sit. Let me explain please,” he pleads.
“I’ll stand. Talk,” I clip.
“Fuck.” He runs his hand over his buzzed head. “This is not how I wanted you to find out.”
“Find out what?!” I’m bordering on hysterics, and I can’t do anything to stop it. He can’t mean what he said, right? I signed the fucking papers. Sure, he tattooed the heart I signed the note with on his skin, but that doesn’t mean we’re married still … right?
“I never filed the papers.” It’s so quiet, yet it’s as loud as a train whistle.
“Youwhat? You have two minutes to explain, so talk fast.” I’m losing every ounce of my rational brain at an alarming rate, and I know I need the full story before I completely blow up on him, but I’m so close to kicking him out of my house forever, regardless of what he says.
“When you sent the papers back, I knew it was what was best for you, but I second-guessed it every minute. It was like I knew letting go was the right thing, but I just … couldn’t do it. And I know that’s so fucked up, but I couldn’t force myself to submit them, even thoughI knew it was wrong.” He sounds ashamed, but it does nothing to soothe my shattered heart.
Physical pain radiates from the stupid, gullible organ deep within my chest. At the moment, I don’t know what to trust, but I do know I need him out of my house. I can’t think about anything logical with him sitting nearby.
“Get out,” the strangely calm voice I realize is mine says.
“Rina…”
“Get out Arlo. Don’t come back unless you are explicitly invited.” I turn on my heel, walk up to my house, then to my bedroom, and slam the door before heading to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I walk in fully clothed. Collapsing on the floor in a mess of tears and confusion, I sit, soaking wet, until the water makes me shiver, forcing me out in order to warm back up.
Betrayed.
All I feel is the betrayal of Arlo’s actions. It’s been like this all night, and I can’t even get out of bed now that it’s morning.
