Page 104 of All Tied Down

“I’ll meet you outside.”

Disconnecting the call, I slide my phone into the pocket of my bag and descend into the kitchen. It’s still quiet, so I slip on my shoes and grab my purse. I’m nearly to the door when the light catches on my key ring.

There’s no way I’m giving my rings back before the divorce papers are signed, but my key is different. Inhaling a shaky breath, I pull it from the key ring and set it on the counter, the metal clanging against the granite.

It’s done.

Swiping a stray tear from my cheek, I move across the room and out the door, already mourning my life, my marriage, and the place I finally felt at home.

With my husband.

My fake husband.

And maybe that’s the part I need to remember—none of this was real—and sadly that’s something I know all too well.

41

GARRETT

It’s nearly two in the morning by the time I finally make my way out of my studio. The house is eerily quiet, the light over the island still on instead of dimmed like Emerson would normally leave it if she happened to go up to bed before me.

Emerson.

The fury from earlier has been replaced with a bone-deep sadness, the kind that makes my body ache with every step. I meant every word I said, but fuck I didn’t handle that right. I can’t imagine she’ll be waiting for me in bed, but if I’m lucky I didn’t totally fuck up the last week we have together.

Without thinking, my feet lead me into the kitchen, my throat dry and desperately in need of water after playing and singing the song that had poured out of me all night. The words had materialized onto the page, each falling perfectly.

Effortlessly.

For her.

And I didn’t fight them.

Because they’d been the words I’d locked away from the moment she told me she didn’t want one—that I was forbidden from writing her a song.

But it didn’t matter if I was losing her.

A savior, a queen, a battle cry heard.

And all that to say she set fire to my world.

Even now the music hums through my veins, the lyrics seemingly a part of me.

Because she’s a part of me.

Pulling a glass from the cabinet, I go to the tap and turn on the faucet, not waiting for the water to get cold before filling it and taking a sip. It helps, but not as much as I’d like. I’m just about to refill it when something shiny on the counter catches my eye.

A key.

Stepping closer, there’s no mistaking that it’s a house key.

My house key.

Setting the glass down, I jog to the stairs, taking them two at a time to find the entire upstairs shrouded in darkness. Flipping on the lights to the master bedroom, my stomach sinks, the scent of her perfume barely noticeable, like she hasn’t been here in a while.

I know when I head to the guest room that’ll be empty too.

And it is, the bed still pristinely made like it has been since she started sleeping in my bed months ago.