Even when Kerstin was correct.Especiallywhen Kerstin was correct.
But her therapist would still agree that Maria had the right—no, theimperative—to walk away from a relationship that would leave her miserable, and three years of separation from her partner would do just that. Maria knew Kerstin would say that, because they’d had an emergency appointment earlier in the week, and Kerstinhadsaid that.
Well, no.
Not exactly that. Not in those words. Again: therapist.
“Do you have any uncertainty about whether that amount of time apart from Peter would make you unhappy?” she’d asked. And when Maria had shaken her head and swiped at her cheeks with a tissue, Kerstin had simply said, not without sympathy, “Then let’s talk about the coping skills you’ve been employing.”
So yes, Maria had fucked up in the particulars, but not in her overall decision.
Maybe someday she’d apologize to Peter for those particulars, once the thought of seeing him again at various cons and awards shows and press junkets stopped nauseating her.
Time to keep packing.
But as soon as she rose from the couch, the front door slammed open, and she jumped at the loud thud, her chest squeezing in instinctive panic as she swung toward the entry. Only to find Peter, breathless, brows drawn tight, racing through his own door at a sprint.
He skidded to a halt just inside the house and stared at her.
She stared back.
He said nothing.
She said nothing.
Bewildered, she glanced out the open door to see his SUV parked crookedly in the street in front of his house, his right frontbumper buried in one of the bushes lining his yard. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d left the driver’s-side door open.
Gods above, what had happened? And why wasn’t he saying anything?
“Is... something wrong? Did I set off an alarm? Or do you need me to leave so you can deal with... whatever’s going on?” She swung a hand toward the leafy bush now decorating his SUV’s bumper. “I’m not quite done packing yet, but I can come back later in the—”
“No.”
One gruff word. Zero explanation.
She waited for explication that didn’t come, waited some more, and then lost patience.
“No... what? I can’t come back another time?” Her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Because really, Peter, I need to—”
“No, you didn’t set off an alarm. No, I don’t want you to come back another time.” He stalked closer to her, step by step. “No, I don’t want you to leave.”
Another two steps, each one eating up enormous amounts of hardwood flooring. Another.
“Ever,” he finished.
His eyes devoured her, raking her from sloppy ponytail to slippered feet, then back again. He was wearing a wrinkled suit for reasons she couldn’t even begin to guess, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His wavy mane looked like he’d dragged his fingers through it a million times, and his hands were fisted at his sides so tightly his knuckles were white, and—
And she didn’t understand any of this.
“What...”Skit, this was cruel of him. He shouldnotbe looking at her that way, with so much heat and need andaffection, notwhen she’d told him exactly why she had to go and shown him in such an unmistakable way how much leaving would hurt her. “Peter, why are you even here right now, instead of Madison?”
“Ramón and Nava were there.” He clarified, “At the event.”
“I’m glad,” she said slowly. And she was. Just entirely befuddled too, and entirely miserable and increasingly angry. “Okay, the next time you’re out, I’ll come by and—”
His face softened. “If they’d known I’d see you so soon, they’d have sent their love.”
When she’d intended to stay here in Los Angeles, the four of them had made plans, but...