Page 129 of Debt of My Soul

“No,” I say, swallowing. “I told her we’d talk when I was done. That she could stay here, and we’d figure things out.”

My grandfather shifts on his feet. “It may be best?—”

“No—”

“—to give her time, Liam.”

No.

No.

I don’t want time. I’ve had years of time alone. I want my wife.

I should’ve demanded to talk with her more. The damn agency. I fist both of my hands, bringing them to my head and resting them over top.

“Did she leave contact information?”

“Liam …”

“Did. She. Leave. Contact information?” I ask again.

“No. And we haven’t heard from her.”

I kick the pile of leaves, my mind crazed. Does she want nothing to do with me?

I take off back to my bike, needing to get out of here. I tear down the road, booking it for the open road and watching the speedometer tick up, up, up.

Gone.

She can’t be. I need her. I love her.

But what do you have to offer her? You forced her into marriage and kept her in a tiny cabin for the extent of your relationship. Between you and your brother, she’s probably tapped out.

The town of Ruin fades behind me and the road opens into hayfields and cotton rows.

You failed. As a brother, as a husband, as a son.

I grip the bike, for the first time understanding why Fleur was so obsessed with those damn rubber bands. I’m losing control. This can’t be happening.

She left and maybe my grandfather was right. I need to let her live her life.

Chapter 49

Fleur

One Week Later

Icame home about two weeks ago and fell into my parents’ arms. My dad even greeted me at the airport with a sign. Not embarrassing at all.

Being at my parents’ the next several days was refreshing, then reality set in. I’d left.

Living in the house with my parents is comforting and depressing all at the same time. I think about Liam constantly. I want to know if he’s okay, but with each day that passes, the more anxiety takes over about reaching out.

Is he mad I left? Has he filed for divorce already?

I slam on my brakes and swerve to miss a silver Camry and nearly run into a US-131 road sign. Traffic is practically at a standstill and the congestion is exacerbated by the construction that never seems to let up.

It’s only six in the evening, and I’m sure traffic will go at five miles per hour for the next hour or so. Though, I can’t complain. My dad loaned me his car to use this past week, and the freedom behind the wheel has been welcome.

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