Page 75 of Speak of the Devil

“Where are we? Really, Shane, what do you think will change in the next forty-eight hours?” A part of me wants to get the heavy stuff out in the open, to address our issues, and arrive at our destination with less baggage weighing us down. The other half of me wants a glass of wine, some cheese and crackers, maybe some grapes as well, and to lounge lakeside without worrying about Shane, me, the two of us together, or anything else. To let what’s destined to happen, happen like Luna always says.

She has the luxury of money supporting her belief system. I’ve had to create my life from the ground up all by myself. So leaving things be doesn’t come naturally to me.

He replies, “I hope you won’t hate me anymore.”

“I never hated you. That was part of the problem. I accepted you for who you were.”

“I’m different now.” The words are fine, though they don’t penetrate the skin. I’m not cruel, but I can’t believe everything someone tells me until they show me as well.

“This is a chance to start over, to erase what happened like it never did?” The bitterness that rises from a deeper side of my heart, one I had locked out when I closed the door on ourrelationship, resurfaces. I didn’t even realize how much anger I had held onto. Now I hear it through a tremble of my tongue, exposing the pain he caused through my tone.

“You can ask me anything. You can yell or shout at me, Cat, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give an answer that suits what you need. All I can do is say I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for dragging you into the world that revolved around me with no place for anyone else. I can’t seem to be sorry for what gave me the opportunity to apologize. Forced or not, I want you to know I left your apartment. It wasn’t you I rejected. It was my life, the life I called living.”

“Did you return the text you got that night? Did you meet up with her? Tell her that you’d broken my heart, but would fuck her like you thought you’d be fucking me?” Tears fill the waterline of my eyes, threatening to pool over. I didn’t mean to revisit the hurt of that night, the thoughts that ran rampant in my mind if he left me for someone else or just didn’t want me anymore.

“Cat?” His voice is low as he reaches over to rub the back of my neck. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Despite how good it feels to have him touch and comfort me, I anchor my elbow on the door and stare out the window. A few tears fall, but I grow stronger with each passing minute. Harder on the outside to protect the softness of my heart from being damaged again.

When the warmth disappears from my skin, clarity enters. The lack of an answer is the answer I needed.Now I know.I can never trust?—

“They were from Laird.”

I whip my eyes back to him, narrowing as I try to understand. “The texts?”

“Laird texted me because he took Poppy to the hospital. Twins tend to come early. She’d had contractions, and he wanted to make sure she and the babies were alright.”

I’ve always heard there are two sides to a story. It’s so easy to forget when you’re caught up in your own emotions. I whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew we were already over.”

The blade was so slick I barely felt it pierce my heart. And then I felt everything all over again. “I wish I had known.”

“I did you a favor. It had already gone too far that night for us to salvage the remains.”

The elevation changes. I can feel it in my ears as my stomach twists from the gradual curves. “Can we stop the car?”

“I’ll have to find a place to pull over.”

I grip the door with one hand and press to the seat with the other. “I’m going to be sick.”

Shane pulls off the main road, parking just off the edge of a turnoff. I pop the door and run to the nearest bushes and bend over. The fresh air settles my racing thoughts, the solid ground helping with my stomach. I plant my hands on my hips, standing back up.

In through the nose. Out through my mouth. In. Out. In. Out.

I don’t know if it’s the confirmation that he didn’t care or the change in altitude. Either way, I’ll need more time to recover.

After a few more deep breaths, I turn around to find him standing on this side of the Ferrari. He looks at me, and says, “We were heated. We argued. When I left, I didn’t know it would be forever.”

I cover my mouth, disappointed that I’m even crying. I hate feeling powerless, but I do with him. “Then why didn’t you come back?”

“Because I loved you too much.”

“What does that mean, Shane?” I shout across the short distance as anger fills me. “You loved me too much, so you hurt me?”

“I loved you too much, so I saved you from being with me.”

I throw my arms in the air, frustrated. “That makes no sense.” Walking away from him and the car, from this conversation . . . argument or whatever it is. The gravel crunches under my sneakers, the wind blowing against my dress and pushing my hair behind my shoulders. I keep walking because I need the distance to clear my head.

---