Page 5 of Tear Me to Pieces
Until Myra.
It figures she’d be the only one I couldn’t walk away from.
“How are you doing?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. The need to know she’s okay is too strong. Too consuming.
I can usually ignore it. Go about my day pretending it doesn’t matter. But not when she’s in front of me. Not when I can clearly see how much she’s still struggling.
She tries to hide it, but I can see the weariness in her eyes. The sadness slumping her shoulders. It fucking makes me crazy, and is one of the reasons I have to walk away from this place as often as I do.
Myra pulls in a deep breath, slowly releasing it in preparation to offer up the same lie she always does.
“I’m…” Her blue eyes meet mine, holding as she says, “Not as good as I thought I’d be by now.”
The air freezes in my lungs, catching at the open honesty she’s offering me.
Her gaze drops to the ground as she continues. “I feel like I started so strong and then…”
I’m hanging onto every word so tight that I almost fall forward when she stops. “And then?”
Myra shakes her head, eyes still fused to my feet. “And then it just stopped.”
“It didn’t stop.” I manage to soften the edge of my words, but just barely. “You got a great job. You bought a house. You helped get a whole group of women out of a bad situation.” I step closer, drawn in by the need to make her see how fucking amazing she is. How strong. How brave. “Nothing has stopped, Myra.”
Slowly, her gaze lifts, making a path up my chest. It pauses, hanging on my mouth for the blink of an eye before raising higher. “Being a functioning adult and being happy are two different things.”
Her words jab into a sore spot. One I’ve carried for a long damn time.
I swallow hard, risking a question I hope to God she doesn’t ask me. “Why aren’t you happy?”
Myra huffs out a little laugh. “Lots of reasons.”
When she doesn’t elaborate, I push for more. “Give me one of them.”
Her lips purse, like she’s going to shut down on me. I’ve seen it happen enough I know the signs. Myra keeps her feelings close. It’s shocking she’s given me as much as she has.
I still want more.
“Hmm. One reason.” She lifts her eyes to the sky like she’s thinking. “I guess one reason is that my job—while great—is really fucking exhausting. And I’m so tired when I get home that I don’t feel like tackling another renovation, so my house is a mess.”
“It can’t be that bad.” Being the greedy bastard I am, I’m pushing my luck. Hoping she’ll let me a little closer. Give me just a few more crumbs to carry with me when I go. And I will have to go. I know who I am and who I’m not. What I will and won’t be able to do. I can’t stay here—close to her—and keep myself in line.
Myra snorts. “If I didn’t have to be at work in an hour, I’d show you just how bad it is.”
“Then show me after work.” I wince inwardly, wishing I could kick my own ass. I have good intentions—really—but they’re like a scream in the wind. Whipped away and muffled by a stronger force set on its own path.
Myra angles a brow at me. “The only people who get to come into my house after I get off work are the ones who bring food.”
That makes me pause. Makes me wonder if?—
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tate comes storming out his front door, glaring at where my camper takes up the bulk of his driveway. “You can’t park that thing here, man.” He stops right next to where I stand with Myra, taking in the full scope of my current housing situation. “Did you buy an evenbiggercamper?”
I love Tate. He’s one of my best friends. But right now I’m considering punching him in the face for interrupting the conversation. “I’m not leaving it here, dick. I just stopped to talk to—” I motion to where Myra stands beside me.
Except, she’s gone. Evaporated into thin air like I imagined the whole goddamned thing.
Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve thought of her so much my brain conjured up the interaction just to fuck with me.
I turn back to find Tate staring at me, one brow angled in question. “To talk to who?”
