Page 33 of I Do, You Don't
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Eyes flat, arms crossed.
“Then why didn’t you fight for me?”
The question guts me. I thought I did. I thought she betrayed me. That’s why I left.
“I thought you were with someone else,” I whisper. “I thought you betrayed me. That’s why I walked away.”
“Well, I didn’t,” she snaps. “I was loyal. And you punished me for it. I told you when you left that I’d never forgive you. And you walked out anyway.”
Her face is stone. Unreachable. I was wrong.
I hadn’t been betrayed, I’d been the one swinging the axe.
“I…” But there’s nothing left. No excuse worthy of air.
I hold out the flowers. My last chance.
She doesn’t take them. She steps back and slams the door.
The sound reverberates, a clean, cruel ending.
I stand frozen, the cold emptiness wrapping tight around my chest.
Well, shit.
Chapter 12
Lara
The day after Gideon humiliated himself on my doorstep, I invited Drew over to decompress. Having witnessed it all, she's aware of everything: how Gideon thought flowers could erase the humiliation of leaving me at the altar, how he thought a half-hearted, “Gee, babe, maybe I was wrong to accuse you of cheating,” could undo the agony he put me through, and how, after months of ignoring my pleas about Delilah, he thought showing up out of nowhere meant he was forgiven.
I warned him. I told Gideon I never wanted to see him again, after repeatedly telling him I never cheated. Since he chose to believe Delilah over me, he can stick by her side and leave me alone.
The knock at the door is sharp, deliberate. Not the kind that says, Hey, just dropping by. No, this one says,Get ready.
I glance at Drew, sprawled on my couch in leggings and a messy bun, shoveling popcorn into her mouth like we’re still pretending this week hasn’t shattered everything. The soft, rhythmic crunch fills the quiet, but it only makes the silence heavier, denser, like the air has a body of its own, heavy with everything we’re not saying.
“I got it,” I mutter, crossing the room. The hardwood floor creaks beneath my feet; I wince at the noise, as if even the house can sense the tension thickening around us. I unlock the door, the cold metal key turning with a faint click.
And thenI freeze. It’s not one person, it’s five. My parents. Two large, expressionless men in black. And front and center… Calvin.
He looks like he hasn’t slept, as if whatever’s about to come out of his mouth has been choking him for years. His eyes are shadowed, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding onto something volatile.
“Can we come in?” he says, voice low and edged like glass. His words scrape at the silence in my apartment, making my heart skip. The air freezes. My pulse thuds in my ears.
Five minutes later, everyone’s in my living room, and no one is breathing.
Drew stares at Calvin like she just realized he’s not merely my hot, overly intense friend. Gross. Meanwhile, my mom, Claire, is perched on the arm of the recliner, arms folded so tightly across her chest it’s a wonder she hasn’t broken her ribs. The fabric of her cardigan stretches over clenched muscles; the air around her crackles with restrained anger. The lamp casts her features in sharp relief, making her look carved from stone.
Dad, David, shifts on his feet, like a confession is dripping off him and he’s trying to catch it before it hits the floor. His collar is slightly askew, his tie crooked, as if he’s holding it all together, but barely.
And Calvin?
Calvin stands in the center like he owns the room, like the air obeys him. The two bulky men behind him don’t blink, they don’t need to. Their presence alone is a threat. The stale scent of their cologne hangs heavy, mingling with the faint aroma of takeout pizza on the coffee table. It’s suffocating, thick with the unspoken.
“I’m not here for drama,” he says finally. “But I need to tell the truth. All of it.”
Here we go.
