Page 16 of I Do, You Don't
I reach for the phone again and scroll to his profile. He’s laughing with her—that easy, carefree joy cuts deep. I’m not angry at Delilah; I know exactly what she’s doing.
But he’s letting her.
I should text him. Scream at him. Ask why he’s allowing this.
But I don’t. My fingers freeze. No words come. I press the phone to my forehead, wishing it could erase the ache. A breath slips out—thin, unsatisfying.
Then comes a knock at the door.
I don’t move. I’m not ready.
The knock comes again, louder.
“Lara.” Calvin’s voice cuts through—sharp, demanding, concern wrapped in steel.
I don’t answer. I sit there, wishing I could disappear. The door clicks open behind me. Footsteps draw closer.
“Lara.” His voice slices through the fog. He steps into view, eyes scanning me, dark, assessing. His gaze softens when he sees me disheveled and fragile, then his jaw tightens. My messy bun. Bloodshot eyes. Sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt I grabbed because it was easy.
“You need to pull yourself together,” he says, firm and unapologetic. “This isn’t you. Stop wallowing.”
I don’t answer. Don’t look at him. He’s right, this isn’t me.
He crouches in front of me, lifting my chin with a finger. “Look at me. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
His touch doesn’t comfort; it exposes.
“I can’t face him,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I just can’t.”
He says nothing, only pulls me to my feet with surprising strength. I stumble, and he steadies me.
“Shower,” he says. “It’s the first step. Not today. Not like this.”
I want to argue. To scream that I can’t. That I’m not ready.
But I don’t. I drag myself to the bathroom. Steam wraps around me, warm and forgiving. I close my eyes and let the water fall over me.
I can’t think of Gideon. I can’t think of anything.
Yet even as the water pours down, the thought lingers: maybe I’m doing the right thing by not reaching out. Maybe this is the universe telling me I deserve better, someone who chooses me.
A knock at the door.
“Eggs and toast. And we’re talking.”
I don’t answer. He knows I heard him.
When I finish, I dress and find him waiting. His gold watch gleams; his hair is slicked back, every strand in place. The suit, tailored, expensive, intimidating. His eyes meet mine, cutting through the fog.
He’s right. I need to get my shit together.
“Get dressed,” he says. “You’re not letting him win.”
There’s a promise in his voice, a vow. He’ll make sure Gideonpays.
I nod, wiping my face with a towel, then head to my bedroom. When I return, Calvin’s eyes flick to my clothes: a simple sweater and jeans. But I’m standing.
I don’t know what happens next. Yet for the first time in days, I think I might have a chance at figuring it out.
