Whitney sighed. “It was ten years ago, Meg—”
“And I just saw that bitch in her underwear at his house!” My voice rose shrilly. “I can’t be with him. I can’t do this.”
My sister pulled me into a hug, and I cried onto her shoulder the same way I did all those years ago. Over the same stupid boy.
She rubbed my back. “If a man makes you cry more than he makes you smile, he’s not worth your time, Meg. Take it from someone who knows.”
Did Adam make me cry more than he made me smile?
No.
But these tears sucked big time.
The doorbell rang. Whitney and I went to the living room, and she peeked around the curtain. “It’s Adam,” she whispered.
“No. I can’t see him.” I backed away from the window as the doorbell rang again.
“Meg! I know you’re in there! I see your car out front! Damn it, open the door!” Adam bellowed, banging on the door with his fist.
“He’s going to bust it down,” Whitney said, her eyes wide.
“He’ll go away. We just have to stay quiet,” I assured her.
Of course, Adam didn’t go away. He wasn’t the kind to give up.
“Maybe you should talk to him. Hear his side of the story,” Whitney suggested as Adam kept ringing the doorbell and banging on the wood with his hand.
“Meg, I’m going to wake up all your neighbors! Just open the door! It’s not what you think! She just showed up! I had no idea she was coming over!”
Whitney stared at me. “Can you hear him? It sounds—”
“I don’t care what it sounds like. Chelsea will always be there between us. He’s not my future. We simply don’t fit together. Not like that.” I wasn’t sure I was even making sense, but it made perfect sense to me.
Whitney didn’t look happy. “I think you’re being incredibly stubborn, Meg.”
“Don’t, Whitney. Just don’t.” I huddled in the corner and willed him to leave.
After ten more minutes, things grew quiet. Whitney extracted herself from me and went to the front door.
“Don’t!” I called out, but it was too late. She opened the door, and Adam was sitting on the step, his head in his hands. He looked up at my sister and jumped to his feet.
“Whitney, where’s Meg?” he asked, sounding tired and incredibly sad.
Whitney looked back at me, and I shook my head. “She doesn’t want to see you, Adam,” she told him.
I backed away so that he couldn’t see me, but I could still see him through the crack of the door. I could see his jaw go rigid. “She’s got it all wrong. Chelsea and I aren’t together.” He took a step forward, but Whitney blocked his path. “Do you hear me, Meg? Chelsea and I aren’t together!” he yelled into the house.
“Stop it, Adam. This isn’t helping your case. Just give her some space—”
Adam’s face hardened. “This is ridiculous. You get that right, Meg?” he shouted. “You’re always so quick to see the worst in me. Do you understand what that feels like? To have the woman you love only see your scars and your warts? You want to believe I’ll hurt you, so that’s what’s happened? Am I right?” He backed away from Whitney, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I can’t make you see the truth when you don’t want to see it.”
He walked down the steps with his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I won’t chase you, Meg. Not when there’s no chance in hell I can catch you.” His voice broke right along with what was left of my heart. “And just so you know, it’s not Chelsea that broke us. It’s you. You tore us to shreds.”
Then he was gone.
Whitney closed the door. And without a word, she let me fall apart.
Chapter 21
Adam
I knew things were screwed beyond repair when I got out of the shower to the smell of Chicken Marsala and goddamn Justin Beiber playing on the stereo.
There’s no way in hell I’d ever listen to Justin fucking Beiber.
I heard someone say my name. I couldn’t quite hear them because I was drying my hair with a towel. I called out “What?” but no one responded. I assumed it was Meg. I had hoped she’d come over after she finished the mural.
My stomach dropped into the floor. Meg was finished with the mural. I had no idea what that meant for us, but I was committed to finding out. And if she was here cooking food, maybe that was a good sign. But why was she playing that god-awful music? I’d never taken her for a Belieber.
“Meg? What are you doing—?”
I walked into my bedroom to find Chelsea on my bed. Her clothes on the floor. Her boobs on proud display. Her legs slightly spread so I could see she had gone full Brazilian.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she purred, arching her back, her hair falling onto the pillow.
“What the fuck are you doing here? And get out of my bed. And put some clothes on,” I shouted, picking up a scrap of non-existent fabric and hurling it at her.
Chelsea wasn’t deterred. “I’m not leaving until we talk about us. We need to figure out how to make things work. I don’t think you want a divorce.” She slid the slip over her head, though it didn’t hide much. I could still see more of my soon-to-be-ex-wife than I wanted to.
I felt so much rage, so much anger. But then it dissipated. Like a popped soap bubble. I let it all go, and it drifted off into nothing. Chelsea didn’t matter. Her games were inconsequential.
Because I had Meg in my life. And that made all of this meaningless.
I looked at Chelsea—the woman I had spent the last ten years thinking I loved—and felt sad for her because I hadn’t been fair to her. I had entered into a marriage with her dishonestly. I had never given her all of me. I had never given her even a fraction of my heart.
Chelsea wasn’t the only asshole in this situation.
“You don’t need to do this, Chelsea. You don’t need to use your body to get what you want. Be better than that.” I handed her my robe, which she took with obvious confusion.
“I’m sorry, Chelsea,” I said, sitting down on the bed.
Chelsea looked shocked, her fake lashes blinking rapidly. “What are you apologizing for?”
“This fucking mess of a marriage,” I said sadly.
Chelsea crawled over to me, but she didn’t try touching me. For once, she seemed off balance. “That’s why my attorney suggested counseling—”
I looked at her. Really looked at her. She was selfish and shallow and downright cruel. But that didn’t mean she deserved all of my ire. I was just as responsible for the situation as she was. “You never loved me, Chelsea. Don’t pretend you did. This marriage has never been about love. It’s been about convenience. You wanted an image, and I wanted someone to help me forget.”
Chelsea frowned and pursed her lips. “I loved you, Adam. I do love you.”
“You love my money. And that’s cool. Just be honest with yourself,” I countered. Chelsea looked away, not denying it. The silence was the most honest thing she ever said.
“It was tiring trying to compete with her all the time, you know,” Chelsea said finally. Her voice had lost its affected trill. She wasn’t trying to seduce me or manipulate me. It was a nice change.