“Why not, Kate?” I cut in. My voice was rising, desperate and mean. “You’re clinging to a life that gave you fuck all. A job that woreyou down. A husband who left you for a younger woman. What’s left, Kate?”
I saw her face crumble, then there was an agonising moment of silence.
And suddenly, I was outside my own body. Watching this fucking idiot version of me torch everything.
Her mouth opened. But no sound came. Then, suddenly…too firmly and cold.
“Fuck you, Jordan.”
She stood there just long enough for me to see the tears forming in her eyes. Then she turned sharply, shaking her head in disbelief.
The bedroom door slammed. The final, awful punctuation to our first and maybe last fight.
And I just stood there, frozen and ashamed. Still catching up to what I’d just done.
She hadn’t deserved that. Not even a little bit. She was the only thing keeping me sane these past weeks, and I’d gutted her with one breath. Just to ease the pressure behind my ribs. Just to push her away before she saw how close I was to falling apart.
I sat down on the edge of the sofa before my legs gave out. My hands were shaking. My chest was hollow. My head full of noise.What the fuck have I done?
I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. Tried to slow my breathing.This wasn’t me. This wasn’t me.But the problem was, I didn’t know how to get back to the version she’d fallen for. Not only that, I wasn’t sure if she’d ever look at me the same again.
Chapter Forty-Three
Kate
August 19th
I didn’t sleep.
I lay there all night, rigid and still, staring at the ceiling like it might give me all the answers to my problems. My arms stayed crossed over my chest like a shield, like if I held tight enough, I wouldn’t come apart at the seams.
Through the door, I could hear him. Out on the sofa. He’d knocked a few times on the bedroom door. “Kate? Please sweetheart, can we talk?” My stomach clenched so hard it hurt. Fucking sweetheart? I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I felt too sick to speak.
I was so bloody angry.
Actually,angrydidn’t even begin to cover it. But who was I angry with?
Him? Of course, I was angry at him. How dare he. How dare he use everything I’d been through as a weapon against me.But why?That was what I couldn’t get past. That was what I couldn’t stop asking myself. I’d been there. I’d beeneverywherefor him. I’d dropped everything to follow him halfway across the world. To support him. To love him.
But I was also furious at myself. I’d let my guard down too far. Waytoo fucking far. Dared to let myself believe that happiness would stick this time, and it had all imploded in my face…again.
What hit me the worst was that it was one loss. That was all it took. One loss, and he spiralled. And instead of letting me in, letting me help him, he turned on me. Unleashed it all like venom. I think I finally got the message. He only liked me when he was riding high. Because I’d conveniently been there when he was on top of the world. Now? Now I feel like I’d been fooling myself about what we really were.
He could stay out there for all I cared. Except…that wasn’t true. Not really. It was easier to be furious. Easier than letting the hurt settle in. Because once it did, it coiled inside me like smoke, thick and suffocating, wrapping tight around my ribs.
What’s left, Kate?
God.
Those words circled like vultures. Over and over. Picking me clean. Whatwasleft?
Because yesterday morning, I’d emailed in my notice in at work. I’d spent days agonising over it. But that night in Montreal, the night he was there for me, the night he showed me why it was me he wanted. That sealed it for me. I needed this man more than anything.
I’d found a way to consult remotely, to keep a foot in the door, to juggle it all from the road. I had a call scheduled in that week with the agency to discuss it. I’d even been looking into sport psychology training. I hadn’t told him yet. I was waiting for the right moment. But he hadn’t even given me a chance.
And now…fuck.What had I done?
My jaw clenched. The lump in my throat wouldn’t budge. I could still hear the crack in his voice when he’d said it, like he didn’t even register the weight of his words until it was already too late.
