Page 7 of Tear Me to Pieces
I could help her with that. I’ve got a month’s worth of time to fill before I have to head out to my next job, and I can’t think of a better use of those days than helping Myra find the happiness she deserves.
Rocking my head from side to side, I settle into the idea, and a plan starts to form. I should be talking myself out of it, but the longer I stand here, the better the idea—and the plan I now have to go with it—sounds.
Myra didn’t seem totally against giving me a tour of her house. Actually, she made it seem like all I’d have to do to earn a ticket inside was bring dinner.
Swinging my eyes away from her place, I let them rest where my home sits. Powerless.
If I want to bring Myra dinner—home-cooked, not takeout—I’m going to have to get my ass in gear and come up with some solutions. Luckily, I love coming up with solutions almost as much as I love making plans.
Even if they’re only going to create more problems.
3
MYRA
Holy crap am I tired.I love my job, but some days it can be a lot.
Today was one of those days.
One of the sinks in the spa clogged up. A girl at the front desk called in sick at the last minute. And a client fell down the front steps after getting a massage that was clearly a little too relaxing. Since I’m the manager, I got to deal with all of it.
And I did. Before I left for the day, the sink was fixed, every ringing phone had been answered, and the client who fell was patched up and no worse for wear.
Me, on the other hand… I’m suffering. My feet hurt, my brain is fried, and I’m fucking starving because I skipped my lunch so all the receptionists could take theirs. At least I’m almost home and have a quiet house and a comfortable bed waiting for me.
And—as much as this shouldn’t be important—Simon’s home. For now.
But as I make the final turn, a frown tips my lips. Tate and Piper’s driveway is vacant.
Simon’s been leaving for longer and longer stretches, but his stays are still normally more than a few hours. Plus, he’s supposed to be performing with Christian and Tate this weekend, so it wouldn’t make sense that he’s already gone. But that’s sure how it looks.
As I drive past Piper and Tate’s house, I lean to peer behind it at the spot where Simon normally parks his camper. Their backyard is also empty.
A sigh slides free. “Damn.”
I shouldn’t be disappointed. It’s not like I can offer him what I’m sure he wants. Unless he’s the unicorn in a herd of horses, Simon most likely wants to settle down. Find a wife—or at the very least a girlfriend—and build a life together. After everything I’ve been through, I don’t know that I’ll ever be capable of being either of those things, which sucks.
Witnessing how Christian loves Lydia and Tate loves Piper makes my chest ache. I’ve never had that. Probably never will. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust a man or let him close enough to love me. But I could live with that.
What Iamstruggling with missing out on? Being a mother.
That hope was the only bright spot that ever existed in my adult life, and one of the few that never dimmed. In hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t get pregnant during my marriage, but part of me can’t help but wish I had. Then I wouldn’t be alone. I would already have what I really want and maybe my life wouldn’t feel so empty. So pointless.
And I wouldn’t have to face the possibility it might be one more thing I can never have.
Blowing out a breath, hoping it takes all my sadness with it, I steer my car up the side of my house so I can park in the back. After shutting off the engine of my secondhand sedan, I step out, lifting my eyes to the tree above me. It’s been dumping leaves for the past week, and somehow still doesn’t seem any closer to being finished. I eye Piper’s garage with envy, wishing I’d found the time and motivation to build one of my own before the weather turned.
Too freaking late now.
Slamming the door of my car a little harder than I need to, I stalk up the cement steps and let myself in through the back door. Dropping my purse and work bag onto the small counter just inside the door, I flip on the light in the one room that’s actually finished in my house.
It’s all thanks to Christian. I didn’t do anything to make it happen besides take him up on an offer I really couldn’t refuse. He’d been hired to demo the kitchen of a home with an almost identical footprint to mine, so he basically took the cabinets, counters, and appliances out of it, brought them here, and screwed it all back into place. It was an insanely kind thing for him to do, but I’m not stupid enough to think the gesture was for me. When you whittle all the loose bits of excuse and explanation off, it was all about my sister. Doing something that would make her happy. He loves her with a ferocity I can’t comprehend.
And never will.
By the time I make it across the room to the fridge, my mood is foul and my attitude is shit.
So I’m feeling pretty normal.
