Page 3 of Stick With Me
“How long have you been planning this? You must’ve done that interview months ago. Why didn’t you tell me? Were you just biding your time until you ran out of it? We’ve been sleeping together, Jace… not frequently, sure, but that’s not the point. The point is you knew. You knew, and you didn’t say a word.” The words spill out in a rush.
“It never felt like the right time…” His mouth continues to move, but I lose track of what he’s saying.
He reaches for my hand, but I jerk it out of his reach. All I can focus on is the pressure building behind my sternum, the overwhelming urge to scream or cry, or both.
I need to get out of here.
“I need a moment.” I nearly knock over the chair in my hurry to stand. The screech of the metal legs against the floor and my rapid breaths are the only sounds that reach my ears.
Rushing out of the kitchen, I open the first door I find and shut myself in the guest bathroom, leaning back against the door and sliding to the floor. I can’t seem to steady my breath or swallow the lump in my throat. The tears come despite my best efforts, spilling over my lashes and running down my cheeks.
What am I going to do now? I can’t stay in this apartment, and there’s nothing keeping me in Texas.
Breathe in… one, two, three, four.
Hold… one, two, three, four.
Breathe out… one, two, three, four.
Has our relationship been perfect recently? Definitely not. But did I see this coming? Also no.
The unsteady rhythm in my chest only makes the anxiety worse.
Sure, we’ve grown apart a little, but that’s normal as you grow up, right? Of course, we’re different from the teenagers we were when we got together. I just thought it was a phase we’d work through. All couples go through rough patches, don’t they?
Is this what my mother warned me about? Always hammering into my head the importance of traditional relationship dynamics. Dynamics I never wanted to be a part of, yet that’s exactly how I ended up, isn’t it? Still, it wasn’t enough to keep him from leaving.
I wasn’t enough.
My head swims, and my vision blurs at the edges.
Something I can see—my white and black checkered Vans against the tile floor.
Something I can touch—the gold ring I spin around my thumb.
Something I can smell—a sandalwood candle sitting on the vanity.
Something I can taste—lingering notes of coffee on my tongue.
Something I can hear—he’s back to making his damn smoothie already?!
What am I going to do now? Nope, I still don’t have an answer for that one.
Apparently, Jace wants something different. Something that’s not me. His way of handling our rough patch is getting some space. And who knows, maybe he’s right. But if he thinks I’ll come crawling back once he’s done having his fun, he’s mistaken.
There’s a soft knock on the door. “I’m sorry,” Jace says. For a second, I almost believe him until he adds, “I know we were planning to leave for Florida next week, but I moved up your ticket so you could spend time with your family…”
Family? Why would he think I want to spend time with them? He knows my relationship with my mother is strained at best. Still, at this point, enduring her endless questions sounds better than staying in this apartment for another minute. “When’s the flight?” I ask, trying to hide the rasp in my voice.
“Um, seven… tonight.”
My head knocks back against the door.
I throw another pair of offending pants into my too-small suitcase. To be fair, the pants did nothing wrong. It was my fiancé. Oops,ex-fiancé.
I was looking forward to a mostly relaxing vacation, but those plans are out the window, along with our relationship. I’m still going to Florida but now to Palm Beach, not Sunrise. No more watching Jace play hockey, posting pictures, sipping margaritas, and tasting the chocolatey goodness of my favorite brownies from Le Petit Sweet.I’m still getting that dang brownie!
Nope, no more fun vacation, instead I’ll be wallowing in heartache at my parents’ place. You know how they say there are five stages of grief? Well, between this morning and this afternoon, I’ve gone through two. I’m past the shock and denial, now I’m onto anger. Okay, maybe anger has been woven in throughout. At this rate, I’ll be cured of heartbreak in about two-point-five days.
