Page 29 of Holly Ever After

“Holly, it's Adam,” he says, as if his name on the display wasn't clue enough.

There used to be a time when his voice would evoke something other than anger in me—a time when he was my anchor. Now, I'm taken aback by the utter indifference that washes over me.

“I know.”

He starts speaking, but I'm hardly listening. All I can think of is how desperately I want this call to end so I can go back inside, back to the warmth of the cottage, back to Sean. And that realization hits me harder than any words Adam is saying.

“Why didn't you tell me you moved?” he demands, a hint of betrayal lacing his voice. “I had to hear it from Sue when I called last week. That's really low.”

“You called my agent?”

“What else what I supposed to do? You’re not returning any of my texts or calls.”

Or emails, I want to finish for him but don’t.

“You lost the privilege to know anything about my life when you slept with half of Manhattan.”

“We could work things out, you know. I could even come to see you,” he suggests, as if doing me a favor. “I'd love to see your new place.”

Is he serious?

A laugh, bitter and cold, escapes. “You're not stepping one foot in my new life. I don't want to see you, ever.”

My voice gets louder, frustration fueling each word. I'm vaguely aware that Sean might hear this, but right now, I can't find it in me to care.

Adam tries to cut in, but I've reached my boiling point. “Adam, can't you just let it go? It's been three months. Move on. I'm done. There's no more to be said. I played second best in your life for long enough.”

“But Holly—”

“I'm busy. Have a good life.” With that, I end the call with a satisfying finality.

I push the door open and step back inside. The moment I do, my eyes lock onto Sean, who's standing ramrod straight. The muscles in his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt, his eyes stormier than I've ever seen them.

I start to walk past him, dropping my gaze to the floor, but it's his words that keep me rooted in place.

“What the fuck did he do to you?” His voice is low, tinged with a protective anger that I've heard from him before. But this seems more punishing, deadly.

My mouth opens, but no words come out. I'm wrestling with my own mix of emotions—shock, gratitude, and a surprising vulnerability I didn't know I was capable of feeling around him.

“He didn't do anything,” I finally manage to say, my voice softer than I'd like. “I did it. I walked away. That was my choice.”

“Was it also your choice for him to sleep with other women?”

I feel every barrier come up, anything to block it out. To block him out and the way he’s looking at me.

Murderous.

“That’s none of your business.”

His hands ball to fists at his sides. “I’m making it my business.”

“Well, don’t. You weren’t even supposed to hear that.” I try to keep my voice steady, but I can hear it tremble. “What happened between Adam and me is my business, not yours.”

“Your business?” His voice rises in incredulity. “You're here, in the middle of nowhere, isolating yourself from everyone who gives a damn about you, and you say it's none of my business?”

“I didn't tell anyone because it's humiliating, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I didn't want their pity, and I sure as hell don't want yours.”

As if betraying me, a single tear escapes, trickling down my cheek. I bat it away furiously. He doesn't get to see me cry.

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