Adam rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I’ll let you starve next time.” He didn’t take my comment seriously. Probably because I was purposefully picking a fight.
Why was I doing that?
Because you’re scared, dumbass.
His feet tangled with mine underneath the table as we sat together like an old married couple sipping coffee and shooting the shit.
Run. Run. Run. He’ll hurt you again if you’re not careful. Watch out.
Then I latched onto the second part of his statement. “You had a conference call with Chelsea’s attorney? About what?”
Adam didn’t talk much about his divorce proceedings with Chelsea, mostly because I hadn’t really asked about them. I was attempting to forget she was still part of the equation. Even if she was always there, between us, ready to expose my insecurities all over again.
Adam gave me a searching look before answering. “It seems she’s playing the abandonment card and is fighting this divorce tooth and nail.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “So that means what?”
Adam cleared his throat—a dead giveaway that he was uncomfortable. Because this situation was anything but comfortable. Talking about your wife with your current—What? Fuck buddy?
Girlfriend?
Significant other?
“She doesn’t want a divorce. She wants us to go to counseling. She insists we do this before signing papers.” Adam stirred his coffee, though there was barely anything left.
“Counseling,” I repeated dully.
“Yeah. And if I don’t want to lose my ass in this divorce, I may have to do it. The thing is I know she doesn’t want me. She just doesn’t want me to be happy,” he explained in disgust.
“So you have to play along,” I surmised, feeling my heart in my throat. It felt like another thing against us. Another reason that this would never work out.
Adam got up in one swift movement and came around to my side of the table, sliding into the booth, putting his arm around me. He cupped my face with his hand, his eyes boring into mine. “It’s just more Chelsea games. I won’t let her do this. I won’t let her drag this sham of marriage out any longer. You are my future. You are my life, Meg.”
His future.His life.
The waitress brought over our breakfast sandwiches, but I had no appetite. This all felt too much, too fast because I loved Adam, and I wanted to trust him. And I wanted to be with him. But there was Chelsea. And there was my very real fear of this all blowing up in my face.
I shook my head, pulling his hands away from my face. “I need to get working on the mural. I have to finish up a few things.” I got out of the booth, moving away from him.
“What about your breakfast? I can have the waitress wrap it up to go, and we’ll head over together—”
“No,” I said a little too loudly, then tempered it with a smile. “I’ll see you later. Maybe bring me another coffee.” I tapped my watch. “Time’s a tickin’.”
Adam looked worried, but he didn’t stop me when I left.
He knew better than to get in my way.
Chapter 20
Meghan
I spent the rest of the day up on the scaffold painting and touching up what I already painted. Adam came out several times, calling up to see if I needed anything. Every time I waved him away with assurances that I was fine.
He knew me well enough to see through my strained smile.
I saw Adam leave at 5:30. He stopped beneath the platform, shielding his eyes from the evening sun. “How long are you going to stay up there?” he asked.
I looked down at him, finding his beautiful face a little hard to look at. “Until I’m done,” I told him.
Adam’s eyes widened slightly. “You think you’ll finish today?” I heard the catch in his voice. He didn’t even try to hide it. We both knew that the mural was a connection between us. It tied us together for a time. Without it, we’d have to figure things out. I was pretty sure both of us were terrified of where that would lead us.
“I think so,” I said, dipping the brush into the paint and getting back to work, making it clear that I didn’t want to talk.
Adam stood there for a while, watching me work. “It looks beautiful,” he finally said.
I didn’t reply at first. I kept painting. And when I turned around to say something—to tell him thank you—to say his words meant a lot to me—he was walking to his car.
I worked for another two hours, and when I could barely lift my arm, the mural was finally complete. I lowered the platform to the ground, unloaded my equipment and paint, and stood back, taking it all in.
I had done a damn good job. It was hands down, the best piece of art I had ever done. I took out my phone and took several pictures in the dying summer light to post on social media and my website.
I felt giddy and euphoric. I could hardly believe what I had created. I did a little dance right there on the sidewalk, not caring who saw me.
The only person I wanted to share this moment with was Adam Ducate.
That right there told me everything I needed to know. So I swallowed my doubts and my second-guessing and decided to start living my future that very moment.
**
I drove to the store and bought two bottles of champagne. I wanted to celebrate not just the completion of my mural, but finally letting my heart take the lead and telling my head to shut the fuck up.
I wanted to be with Adam. I loved him. I wanted a life with him. I would tell him that together we’d figure out the future. That we’d build something. Together.
I was bursting with happiness that I barely recognized. It had everything to do with Adam. I drove to his house, blasting cheesy love songs the whole way. Only Adam Ducate could make me want to listen to butt rock power ballads.
I didn’t notice the flashy car parked in the driveway. I really wished I had. Then it would have prepared me for the sledgehammer to the face I was about to experience.
I took my hair down and fluffed it with my fingers, wishing I had brought a change of clothes with me. It didn’t matter; I planned for Adam to get me out of my clothing as soon as possible. Particularly after I told him what I knew he wanted to hear.
I was grinning like a loon when I rang the doorbell, clutching the two bottles of champagne. I was going to tell Adam that I wanted to give a real relationship a try. That I didn’t want the end of the mural to be the end of us. That New York didn’t matter. That the only life I wanted to have was with him. We had waited long enough to be together. It was time to stop being stubborn and to embrace the second chance we had been given.
The door opened.
“Adam—”
His name fell like a lump of lead at my feet because it wasn’t Adam that answered the door.
“Hi there, Two-Back Galloway. What are you doing at my house?” Chelsea was dressed in a skimpy slip, her massive boobs spilling over the top. Her blonde hair was tousled in perfect waves around her shoulders. Her collagen-puffed lips were parted in a perfect pout. And she stood there, in Adam’s doorway, like she owned the place. Like she had every right to be there.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, feeling my anger surge. What was going on? I tried to look over her shoulder for Adam but couldn’t see him. I could smell something cooking, and music came from the speakers in the living room. Was he playing Justin Beiber? What kind of fresh hell was this? I noticed several candles lit on the table, giving the space a romantic, ambient feel.