Page 65 of When You're Gone
She heard him set the phone down, the clink of glasses and the murmur of bar chatter the only noise on the other end for almost a minute. The Oak technically closed at midnight, but she knew Jake usually stayed late and let people linger.
“Victoria Thompson! I see you! I fucking see you in there!”
She cringed as Fielding’s voice carried through the glass windows of the sunroom. They’d be lucky if the neighbors hadn’t already called the cops. She moved toward the door, desperate to get outside so he would stop screaming.
“Is that him?” Jake growled through the line. He didn’t give her time to respond. “I’m on my way, baby. Literally about to walk out the door, keys in hand. Dem’s with me… he hasn’t seen his brother in three days. We’re both coming. Just stay in the house until we get there, okay?”
The sunroom door slammed closed behind her before she could tell Jake it was too late.
She hung up the phone, sucked in a deep breath, and steeled her spine as she prepared to face the man she’d been avoiding all week. Raindrops landed on her forehead and cheeks as she started to walk across the patio.
“Fielding,” she called out across the yard. She walked toward the pool slowly and methodically to avoid startling him. He was sitting down now, thankfully, his legs dangling precariously over the side of the diving board. The in-ground pool was still covered from being winterized, and the diving board was positioned over the deep end. It was a twelve-foot drop from where he sat to the concrete bottom if he somehow fell through the vinyl. She tried not to think about that as she inched closer.
“There you are! I knew you’d come out eventually. You fucking blocked me!” He was still screaming, even though she was less than ten feet away.
“Shh,” she tried to hush him. “I’m right here. Please don’t scream.”
“You have some explaining to do, Victoria Thompson. Tell me why the hell you blocked me,” he demanded. He wasn’t screaming anymore. But he wasn’t quiet, either.
Realization dawned on her. “I didn’t block you. I’ve just had my phone off for the last few days.”
She took two steps forward and felt a crunch beneath her foot.Shit. She froze in place, anticipating a jolt of pain. But the glass must not have sliced through the sole of her shoe. She could feel it lodged in the rubber, and she heard it scrape against the cement as she shifted her weight onto the other foot, but it hadn’t gone through.
She quickly turned on her phone’s flashlight and pointed it at the pavement. Chunks of glass glistened around her. She was surrounded on all sides.
“Oh yeah. Watch out. I broke a bottle over there. There might be some glass on the ground.”
She chortled at his nonchalance. He was clearly wasted. She was surrounded by hundreds of shards of glass. Trapped—frozen in place, too fearful to take another step forward and too far in it to take a step back.
“Want a drink?” Fielding asked casually, swinging a half-empty bottle precariously between his legs. “I brought tequila, since I know how much you like it.”
“Fuck you, Fielding,” she spat out, rage rising up inside her. How could he be so crass? So cold? She was standing in a pile of glass because of him. Just because that piece of glass hadn’t sliced through her shoe didn’t mean the next one wouldn’t. She didn’t dare move. “Why are you here?” she demanded.
“I just want to talk.” He looked up at her then, his blond curls damp from the drizzle and hanging in front of his face. He motioned to sweep them out of his eyes, but dropped the bottle in the process.
She watched, horrified, as the tequila hit the taut vinyl cover and started to spill out. “I can probably reach that…” she heard him mumble as he shifted forward on the wet diving board and made it bounce under his weight.
“Field! No! Don’t!” she warned.
He tried to grip the edge, but his hand slipped off the side. She yelled out in panic as his whole body jolted forward. Thankfully, he caught himself and sat upright.
“Huh. That’s wet,” he observed.
She lifted her hand to her mouth in horror. Did he not realize it was raining? He must have been absolutely wasted; he seemed to have no regard for his own safety.
“Field. Please,” she begged. “Please be careful. Just stay there. The guys are coming to help us.”
His head shot up, then his eyes narrowed accusingly. He couldn’t possibly think she wasn’t going to call someone for help, could he?
“Careful, Victoria Thompson,” he warned, his voice low and gravelly. “You wouldn’t want me to think you actually cared about me.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Fielding, Idocare.”
“But not as much as you care about him?”
“Field,” she sobbed out his name as she sucked in a shaky breath. She was physically frozen because of the glass. She was mentally frozen because she was so afraid he would hurt himself. “He’s my husband,” she finally said.
“That doesn’t mean shit to me. Not anymore. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. The other night… in that hot tub… when you touched me? You felt it. Iknowyou felt it, too.”
