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But with divorce, I lost that. I lost the ability to fight to keep her. She would already walk away.

“You there?” Archer asked, sounding far off.

“I meant the contract,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

“Ohh,” he said slowly. “I thought you knew.”

“I assure you, I didn’t. And nothing changes.”

I hung up and looked down at the splayed papers.

Oh, no. She could file for whatever she wanted, but she’d listen first.

A warning whispered in the back of my mind as I grabbed my keys and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. Maybe going to her now, with the rioting flood of emotions raging through me, wasn’t the best idea, but I was a hurricane—an unstoppable force.

Fuck Raelynn’s plan. Fuck her timeline.

I was done with waiting.

It was time I went to visit my wife.Thirty-SixVera“Should I be buying stock in Talenti? I mean, it has to be going up with how much you’re plowing through it this week.”

I rolled my eyes at Raelynn, looking down at my slouched position on the couch. “Don’t act like you don’t have a spoon in your back pocket, ready to join me.”

She cocked her hip but quickly dropped the fake attitude. “You’re right,” she sighed, grabbing her spoon and falling down next to me. “Gimme.”

I obliged, holding the container out.

“Oh, god,” she moaned after the first bite. “Salted caramel. My favorite. Do you think I could get them to sponsor me on Instagram? I’m not an influencer, but I could become one for free ice cream.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

We both dug in, watching the episode of Friends playing quietly in the background. I held my breath, waiting for her to bring up the day.

“Soooo…how’d it go?”

I shrugged and stuffed another bite in.

“It’s a cute outfit. Looking like a badass bitch has to help.”

“It definitely doesn’t.”

I’d thought wearing a black power suit would help me feel stronger than I was. I’d wanted to meet with the lawyer in sweatpants and no bra, unshowered, and slouching. Instead, I’d put on my red-soled shoes and cigarette pants. I’d walked in with my head held high—but trembling.

My heart and brain warred for dominance. My brain pushing my limbs forward to sever myself from the man who stole from me—from my family—and used me in the process. My heart tried to hold me back, screaming that this was a mistake.

In the end, I’d signed the papers. Then I’d gone back out to my car and burst into tears, barely making it home.

That was five hours ago, and I hadn’t moved since except to get the ice cream. As a cruel twist, Friends popped up on TV, bringing forth the image of a sick Nico in bed, getting caught up on the show.

Everything in me ached. I just couldn’t tell if it was from being so mad at him I wanted to shove as far away as I could or fighting off this need to go to him every second of the day.

“Did you message him back?”

“No.” Nico’s message came right before I fell asleep, and it had followed me into my dreams, reminding me of each precious moment of our honeymoon. The fear that they’d all been set up and fake held me back from going to him. “What would I say?”

“That you miss him?”

I scoffed. “What? Are you actually wanting me to talk to him?”

“Listen, I may not want a relationship for myself, but I can see you’re hurting, and I hate it.”

“I hate it too, but it doesn’t change what he did.”

“Do you know why he did it? Have you talked to him?”

“No,” I answered, pouting because I knew I was being a coward.

“You know I will make that man’s balls into my own personal earrings for you, but Verana, maybe you should at least talk to him.”

“Maybe he should have tried,” I snapped.

“He’s a man. He will forever be waiting for you to tell him what to do, standing around with his dick in his hand until then, looking like a damn fool.”

I choked on my bite of ice cream, laughing at her description, but quickly sobered. “It’s too late. I’ve already filed.”

“So? Call him and tell him you want to talk first? Marry him again if you want to. Or just be together. Marriage is such a noose anyway. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to get all dolled up and get the government involved.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, thankfully, I do.”

I dropped my head back to the couch with a groan, not convinced.

Both of us jumped, letting out the girliest shrieks when a hard knock shook the front door.

Another loud knock made Raelynn jump up, facing the door like a prized fighter. “What the hell are you doing?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. They sound pretty serious about getting through the door, and this place isn’t big enough to hide for long, so I figure I’ll at least look intimidating.”


Tags: Fiona Cole Blame it on the Alcohol Romance