Page 75 of Chasing Clouds

What happens next? She lied to me for months and divorced me without talking to me first. I had no say then, so asking me now is irrelevant. It’s pretty safe to say there will never be a next after all this.

“Between us? Camille, you can’t be so naive as to think we were going to work out.”

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t confirm or deny; she just stares at me, waiting for me to say more.

I look past her shoulder and around my condo. In three days, she’s infiltrated it even more than when she was here for two weeks. There are yellow pillows on the couch, yellow flowers in the kitchen, and bits and pieces of her everywhere: magazines, her Kindle, shoes, a coffee cup from the shop across the street on the island, a hat hanging off a kitchen chair, the blanket from the guest bedroom draped across the loveseat. So many things are out of order and out of place.

Looking back down at her, my eyes bounce back and forth between hers as I provide her with the only explanation I can give. “I don’t love this life, nor do I want to. This, you and me”—I wave a finger between us—“it was a means to an end for you, nothing more. It ended. We’ve ended.”

Little wrinkles form between her brows. “You don’t love this life? What does that mean? You don’t love sharing a life with me?” she says incredulously.

With my lips sealed shut, I shake my head, and she exhales sharply while taking a step away from me.

“Wow, I guess I was wrong.” She places her hand over her chest and rubs it like it’s aching. “I thought all those weeks together were amazing. I thought you and I together were amazing . . . weren’t we?”

The dejected and confused look on her face has my brain stuttering. She’s blinking faster and breathing harder. Her physical reaction to my rejection of her is causing a visceral response, and all my muscles are coiling tight. I didn’t think this conversation would go this way; I thought this was what she wanted. I certainly didn’t expect her to come off so wounded.

“Look, don’t go acting like a stage-five clinger. Yes, we had a good time together, but this was never going to last. You knew that, and I told you time and time again. Besides, not only is my season going to be starting soon, now I have to deal with all of this. I won’t be distracted—not by you, not by anyone.”

I’ve never had to break up with a girl before. They’ve always known we were just having a good time together until things ran their course. I’ve never had to deal with any of this, and it confirms to me that I chose the right path—the one that includes none of this bullshit. Incidentally, she already ended it with those divorce papers, so the fact that she’s making me do this right now pisses me off even more.

“So that’s it?” She shrugs her shoulders. “You’re just going to pretend like we never happened?”

“We didn’t happen. Yes, we had a good time, but it was fake and only situation induced. I barely even know you, and you certainly don’t know me since we’re having this conversation.”

I mean, how did she think I was going to react to being served divorce papers at my place of employment? I deserve better than that.

“That’s not true and you know it.” Her eyes have widened and they’re slightly glassy. This fuels my animosity, and I step closer to her.

“Do I? ’Cause with what I’ve seen and heard, I’m quite certain I don’t know who you are either.”

Her lips part and she shakes her head in confusion. “What are you talking about?” She throws her hands out. “You’re making no sense, and why—why are you so angry with me?”

“Because I wouldn’t even be in this situation if it wasn’t for you!” I yell at her, my voice echoing around the condo.

“What situation?” she yells back, not flinching or hesitating at my outburst.

“Oh, for the love of God.” I walk around her and toward the hallway to my bedroom. I’m done with this conversation. It’s making my headache unbearable, and I’m done with the drama of her. Facing her one more time, with a sincerity in my tone that breaks even my own heart, I tell her, “Camille, it’s over. It’s all over. I signed the divorce papers. There’s no reason to drag this thing out any longer. It’s time for you to go.”

She wraps her arms around her middle and as her chin quivers, she takes an involuntary step back, like I somehow pushed her. “But . . .”

“Answer me this one question: did you or did you not kill your sister?”

Her skin pales, her eyes widen as she stares at me, and her jaw drops open. Her extended silence is more telling than any words, and the air between us seems to shift. It’s no longer filled with tension, but guilt and grief are pouring off her. Whatever, not my problem anymore—not that it ever really was. How she could have looked me in the eyes for weeks and not told me this, I’ll never know, but then again, she liked not telling me things.

“I did,” she finally whispers, a single tear falling. “How did—”

I don’t even let her finish. “Go home.”

The finality of those two words is so on point, even she knows there’s nothing left to say.

God, I was such a fool, blinded by so many things. When did I become that guy where a pretty face had me losing sight of what’s important to me—character? I could never be with someone who, after all the time we spent together, lies to me—and yes, omission on that large of a scale is lying. I don’t know how she did it or why, but it doesn’t even matter. I don’t want to know. At this point, I know enough, and it’s that I’m done.

Her shoulders slump as she looks at the ground, her chest rising and falling forcefully with each breath. A dozen emotions flash across her downturned face. I know she doesn’t want me to see them, but I do. I’m not sure why she’s so surprised; this is what she wanted. She set all of this in motion, and now I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces—literally. I have to deal with the broken pieces of my body, my heart, and my pride.

Licking her lips, she wipes her face then brings a shaky hand to her mouth and holds it there while she thinks. Is she trying to find a way out of this mess? Is she hoping to come up with some excuse that’ll cause me to change my mind? Because it’s not happening. There’s nothing she can say or do to dig herself out of this one. From the papers to Patrick and the accident to the lies, one man can only take so much.

Finally, she lifts her head and pins me with a cool, detached stare. I’ve seen this expression on her before, and I’m appalled as I watch her go through the motions in front of me, to me. Reaching up, she tucks a few strands of loose hair behind her ear, clasps her hands in front of her, and pulls her shoulders back. My eyes narrow and my nose flares as I take in her stance. She’s shifted back into her socialite persona, and nothing in this world could infuriate me more.