Page 6 of The Rest is History

He’s a married man. Leave him alone.

I need to tell him about Abby.

My fingers find my hair, pulling on my scalp.

I need to tell him about Abby.

Call.

He answers on the second ring.

Chapter 3

Reece

Blood pounds in my ears in perfect rhythm to the bang of my heart against my ribcage.

“Hello?” he says, and I think it’s the second time he’s said it. He doesn’t know it’s me. I changed my number some years after he left.

“Uhm, yes. Hello?” My voice is scratchy. I clear my throat and try again. “Hello?”

The pause is so long I have to check my screen to see if we’ve been disconnected.

“Reece?” He sounds taken aback. Still, my name coming out of his mouth sends anguish rushing through my body, whooshing up from somewhere faraway and clogging my throat. I can’t speak. I stuff my fist into my mouth, choking back sobs. Abby is gone, I want to tell him. You’re gone too. And Abby too.

“Reece?” Soft. He knows something is wrong. Just like always.

My sobs explode inside my throat: nasal inhales and snotty exhales, helpless hums clawing their way up from my throat and through the spaces between my fingers.

He lets me cry. He stays on the phone with me. My screen is wet. The heels of my palms are wet. The tears won’t stop.

He stays on the phone with me.

I don’t know how long I cry for but when I finally collect myself and my anguish is replaced with a shame so deep I’ll surely drown in it, he’s still there.

“I—I’m sorry.” A humiliating stammer to go with my mounting shame.

“You’re not okay.” His voice is tender. I chew on the inside of my cheek, pressing my lips together so I don’t cry again.

“Rough day,” I choke out, unable to keep the runaway sniffle from the end of my answer.

“Rough day?”

“Rough life.”

Silence.

Talk, I want to tell him. Say something so I can hold onto the sound of your voice.

“Why did you call?” He’s trying not to offend me with his question. I know it from the way he drags it out. Like dragging it out will make it sound less offensive.

I wipe my phone screen, using my sleeve to remove the smudges caused by my tears.

“What happened?” he finally says, when it’s clear I have no answer to his first question.

I clean my screen some more, unlocking it so I can see his name. Asher Cameron. Ash. My Ash. Not my Ash anymore.

More than his name, I watch the time tick by. Four minutes and eighteen seconds. Nineteen seconds. Twenty. How long can I stay connected to him like this, someone else’s husband?

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