Page 11 of Tear Me to Pieces
At the time I was pissed. Hurt. Hated her for doing what she did.
Now, with the lens of time and distance to see through, I can see why she might have done what she did. It doesn’t make it anyless painful. If anything, it made it worse. Shifted the weight of anger and blame from her shoulders and put it on mine.
Myra’s mouth drops open and she makes a weird squeaking sound. After blinking twice, she sits straighter, the hand on my arm curling against my skin to grip me tight. “Does she have any idea how fucking hard it is to find a man who wants to be a decent father? To find someone selfless enough to put kids first?”
Now it’s my turn to blink. I know Myra isn’t a shrinking violet. She’s got more spine than most men I know. I’m still a little surprised at the venom in her voice. The murderous intent in her expression. “I don’t know what she knows. This happened a long time ago.”
Myra runs her tongue across the white line of her teeth, snapping it free as her nostrils flare. “I hope she’s fucking miserable.”
I shake my head. “I don’t. If she’s miserable her son’s probably miserable, and he doesn’t deserve that.” I don’t really give a shit about Lenore or how she’s doing. Her happiness is irrelevant to me outside of how it will affect the little boy—now a teenager—I loved like my own.
Myra pulls in a slow breath, easing it out of her lungs. “She’s an idiot for letting you go.”
The compliment sits warm in my chest even though it doesn’t quite fit. I should tell Myra why Lenore leaving me probably wasn’t the wrong decision, but I’m sick of talking about it. Sick of thinking about it. Sick of circling to the past yet again.
Especially when I can’t leave it behind. When I can’t run from the ache it creates.
“You say that.” I motion to her forgotten spaghetti. “But considering you haven’t eaten much of your dinner, you must not be too impressed with me, either.”
My attempt to redirect the conversation works, because Myra’s eyes drift to where her abandoned plate sits on the end table at the other end of the couch. “I forgot we were eating.”
I study her as she picks up her plate and dutifully takes another bite. “You forget to eat a lot?”
I don’t like that Myra hasn’t figured out how to take care of herself. She deserves to focus on herself—what she wants and needs—after spending so many years taking care of a prick who wasn’t good enough to look at her face, let alone touch her skin.
Fucker. I hope he’s having a real nice time in prison. Making a lot of friends. With benefits.
Myra sighs. “It’s not really that I forget.” She takes a big bite of garlic bread. “I just get busy and distracted and before I know it, it’s seven or eight at night.”
I angle a brow at her. “You literally just described forgetting to eat.”
Her lips curve in a hint of a smile. “You weren’t supposed to point that out.”
“Is that how this is going to be? I made us dinner and I still can’t call you out on your bullshit?” I shake my head, letting a teasing smile work onto my lips. “That hardly seems fair.”
Myra rolls her eyes, but the smile on her face holds. “If you plan to call me out on my bullshit, you’re going to be very busy.”
“Good.”
Her eyes jump to where I sit. “Good?”
“Life’s too short to give up your bullshit.” I shrug. “Being easy never got anyone anywhere. So be as difficult and contradictory as you want.”
Myra’s head angles, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure me out. “Shouldn’t you be following your own advice?” Myra takes another bite of her dinner. “Because you’re about the most agreeable person I’ve ever met.”
“There’s some things I get wound up about and there are some things I don’t.” I shrug. “Again, life is short. Fight about what matters and let the rest go.”
Myra twirls her fork in the pasta remaining on her plate. “You’re full of wisdom tonight, are you?”
I huff out a laugh. “No one has ever called me wise, I can promise you that.”
“You’re clearly notunwise.” Myra pulls her fork free, using it to gesture around. “I’m pretty sure this camper cost more than my house. Add on your truck, and obviously you’re not hurting financially. You get to see all sorts of cool places instead of being stuck on a dead-end street all the time.” She stabs her fork back into the pasta. “And you remember to eat dinner every night, so you’re definitely wiser than I am.”
She’s given me an opportunity I should refuse. An opening I shouldn’t take. Especially on the tail of the conversation we just had.
But I’m weak. Always have been when it comes to things like this.
When it comes toher.
