Page 42 of Staying for You

I’m done.

Over it.

Over him.

Over a loveless marriage.

I deserve more and it’s time he knows that.

When we get to the garage, he’s already sitting in the driver’s seat of his pretentious little two-seater car, still staring at his stupid phone like he’s a teenager who can’t look away from Snapchat for a second in case they miss something. He thinks he’s such a cool guy. He’s not. He’s a freaking douche. In this moment, I feel hatred toward my husband and I haven’t let myself go there yet.

I walk past his car and directly to mine. I get inside, push the button to open the garage door, start up my small SUV, and don’t give him a second glance as I back out of the garage and go out for a five-star dinner alone.

It’s the best meal I’ve had in years. Mostly because I didn’t have to look at him while he ignores me, wondering when he started hating me so much. I sit alone, eating a filet that was so tender, it was like butter, creamed spinach and even indulged in one of the best slices of cheesecake even though I was full. We didn’t, in fact, have reservations like he led me to believe. But I was able to get a table after waiting for only thirty minutes. I took the time waiting to email my lawyer and have him start the divorce proceedings.

Maybe that’s why the food tasted so damn good.

It was satisfying for more reasons than just the taste.

I shakeoff the feelings of my past. Of the fact that my ex never told me I was beautiful and return my focus on the man sitting next to me. “So, you said those things to… what? Get yourself to stop liking me?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Pretty much.”

We share a laugh and I shift in my seat so I’m facing him as well, resting an elbow on the back of the couch. “I understand. You were right when you said I was temporary. For the record, I think you’re pretty damn good looking, too.”

He narrows his eyes. “That doesn’t help.”

“Maybe not.”

“I know I’ve said it, but I truly am sorry. I saw the way you were getting along so quickly with my family, how generous you were with your time and considerate… how you knew ahead of time that I’d need help so the kids’ parents could get here. Then you cooked and it was so incredible, like you’d been making meals just for me for years. It was all too much, I guess. I kept thinking you fit perfectly into my life here.” His eyes hold mine. “But then I realized you don’t fit.” There’s that crappybutI was dreading. Darn it.

“Because I don’t live here,” I confirm the obvious.

“Right.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, looking at my mouth when I lick my lips. It’s not on purpose, but the way he’s looking at me has my mouth going dry and wow… speaking of the way he’s looking at me. When his dark lashes rise, my body feels like it’s on fire just from the look in his eyes as they go from the top of my head down to where my hands are fiddling with my coffee cup resting in my lap. I move it to the floor for no other reason than I’m afraid I’m about to dump it on myself if I keep trembling the way I am. The effect he has on me is overwhelming, and a little confusing.

Once I’m sitting up again, I sigh, understanding settling in. He’s right, just had a crappy way of going about making himself believe it. It hurt to hear that’s how he sees me, but I do get the need to protect yourself. Heck, I lived in a loveless marriage for years because it was easier doing that than admitting the truth to myself. I protected myself for years, hoping that if I just brushed it under the rug it would go away and I wouldn’t have to admit that my marriage was a farce. Because how can a woman who writes romance not have the first clue what it’s like to be in a romantic relationship? I had this impression that if my readers found out that I couldn’t even keep my husband happy, they’d see me as a fraud. I wasn’t putting nearly enough faith in them.

“Do you forgive me, Cami? For being a jackass?”

“Yes. I get it, the protecting yourself.” That part I do understand. I need him to know why I reacted the way I did, though. “But just so you know… the words you used? They brought back a lot of awful memories that I prefer stayed buried. You don’t need to be so hard on yourself because you couldn’t have known, and the things you said, if it had been anyone else, probably wouldn’t have bothered anyone else.”

Awareness dawns on his face. “Your ex?”

“My ex,” I agree.

His jaw clenches as does the fist on his thigh. He’s angry, on my behalf. And maybe it’s wrong, but it makes me feel warm inside. “I’m sorry.”

Enough with the apologizes already! Keeping my voice neutral, I remind him, “You’ve said that. No need to continue apologizing, Owen.”

The way he looks at me, now, though, I know he’s no longer talking about what I overheard. We’ve both recognized it. Moved on already. “Maybe I’m saying sorry for something else this time. I’m sorry that your ex would make you feel less than amazing and that my insecurities caused you to relive those memories.”

“I need to move on,” I say quietly, picking at my leggings. “Not from him,” I rush to correct myself. “From caring or letting the past creep in.”

“It’s not that easy, though, is it?”

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