Page 85 of The Worst Pucking Deal

Sawyer should have been the one to text me. He should have been the one who comforted me and assured me everything would be okay. Isn’t that what a husband, someone who loves you, is supposed to do?

Maybe I should have asked him when he returned the following evening, but I didn’t. Instead, I chickened out and hid in the guestroom. He didn’t even bother to come and check on me. I heard him go straight to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. The next morning he left again, still without coming to find me.

I haven’t laid eyes on him for four days, and without my job, there’s nothing to distract me. I’m left to grapple with the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to consume me. I miss him so bad it hurts, and at its worst, even something as mundane as breathing becomes hard. There’s a heaviness in my heart I know only Sy-Sawyer can chase away.

When the hell did I become this dependent on him? In the grand scheme of things, the time we’ve spent together should barely register. Yet it’s all-consuming; it’s everything. Everything I miss, and everything I want. Everything I apparently can’t have.

Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I spend an ungodly amount of hours in the guest bedroom that feels like a glorified shrine—a tribute to a happier time in his life. I’ve studied every picture, smiled as I looked at the pictures of him riding his bike. His cheeks were chubby, but his eyes… they’re the same, yet not. The boy is all smiles and giggles, whereas the man is intense. His gaze is like that of his predator; studying your weakness before pouncing.

Lying on the bed, I look at my phone, reading and re-reading the text from Sawyer.

Sawyer: Don’t come to the game tonight. Fabian’s here.

That’s it. A handful of words after four days of no communication. Sighing, I get up and grab a quick shower. Then I quickly get dressed. Despite Sawyer’s text, I have no intention of not showing up. Not only is it my duty as his wife, but I want to see him. And in public, he can’t ignore me.

While making quick work of getting ready, I tell myself to leave my emotions behind. I can’t show up with heartache written all over my face, or snarling at people because I’m spitting mad. But fuck… I have so much anger inside me. I’m angry with myself for failing to muster the courage to confess the truth to Sawyer when I had the chance, for allowing fear to hold me back from laying bare my secrets.

My anger is not solely directed inward. Remus’ incessant reminders and demands for arrangements to transport Sawyer to Rome only serve to stoke the flames of my frustration. I resent his interference, his intrusion into our already tumultuous lives.

And then there’s Fabian, the catalyst for this chaos, the one who tore open old wounds and exposed shit he had no right to expose. Though I should have seen it coming, his treachery took me off-guard. And now, my anger simmers to a boiling point, a fierce blaze of hatred that threatens to consume me whole. Despite my upbringing, I’ve never wanted anyone dead. Not really. That was then; the me living in the present very much wants his head on a spike.

“Enough,” I tell my reflection as I stop, stealing a moment to make sure I look okay.

My long, fiery red hair cascades down my back in a loose braid, a stark contrast against the simple elegance of my outfit. I’ve opted for a pair of well-worn jeans, paired with sleek boots that add a touch of edge to the ensemble.

A crop sweater—another custom made item with Sawyer’s number on it—its soft fabric hugging my frame in all the right places completes my choice of attire. It’s a look that strikes the perfect balance between casual and put-together, allowing me to blend seamlessly in with the other women.

I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the image staring back at me. My makeup is understated yet polished, enhancing my natural features without overpowering them. And then there’s the glint of my wedding band on my finger, a constant reminder of the tangled web of secrets and lies that now define my life. But all in all, I look good, and not at all like a woman on the verge of giving up.

No, I can’t think like that. I refuse to. I’m not giving up. Not on Sawyer, and not on my freedom. But… as I ride the elevator down, the thoughts I’ve done my best to keep at bay seep in. I have to face the fact that I might not be able to have both my freedom and my husband, not after I neglected to be honest. So if I have to make a choice… there’s no choice at all.

I’ll pick Sawyer because, without him, my freedom means nothing.

As I step out of the taxi, my heart races with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The arena looms ahead, a beacon of both excitement and uncertainty. I adjust the strap of my bag over my shoulder, my fingers fidgeting with the fabric.

Then I see Jo standing outside, her familiar figure standing by the entrance. I hadn’t expected her to be here, and for a moment, I hesitate. But then I steel myself and approach her.

“Hey, Jo,” I greet her, trying to keep my voice steady.

Jo turns toward me, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Lucia, I figured you’d show up. I’m here to escort you inside.”

I nod, grateful for her presence despite my lingering unease. “Thank you,” I murmur softly.

As we walk toward the entrance together, Jo speaks up again, her tone more gentle this time. “I wanted to apologize, Lucia. I know I was harsh the other day, and I regret the way things went down.”

Her words catch me off guard, and I glance at her in surprise. “You do?”

Jo nods solemnly. “Yeah. You took me, all of us, by surprise, really. But despite everything, I care about you. I just want what’s best for you.”

I swallow, feeling a lump form in my throat. It’s unexpected, this display of concern from Jo, but it touches something deep within me. “Thank you, Jo,” I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper. “I appreciate that.”

“Look, I talked to Tom and pointed out there’s nothing anywhere in your contract that makes what happened grounds for firing you, and—”

“Jo,” I say, cutting her off. “It’s fine. I lied, so I get it.”

Turning to me, she frowns. “Don’t you want your job back?”

I shake my head. “If we’re being honest, I don’t care. The only thing that matters to me now is Sawyer.”

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