Page 104 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“No, Court. We’re not. We bring out the worst in each other and I’m done.” I’ve said those words to her before—dozens of times, maybe even hundreds. But tonight is the first time I’ve truly meant them. “I found something better. Someone better.”
Her eyes flash. “That dowdy little author who could barely even speak to you?” A sniff. “She’ll never be to you what I am.”
“God, I hope not.”
I mean to think the words, not say them out loud.
And fuck.
I can see it in her face, in the set of her jaw, the venom in her eyes—she’s going to snap. And I’m so worried about dealing with a Courtney-level drama after midnight while the woman who owns my heart is upstairs sleeping, I don’t realize what she’s said, what she’s revealed.
Don’t realize…until much, much later.
Yanking open the door to the garage, I grab Courtney’s arm and drag her through it. “You need to go.”
“Don’t say that!”
I wince at the shriek, but jab at the button mounted on the wall, sending the metal door rumbling up.
“Don’t say that!”
Fuck.
Her car is in the driveway, so I drag her over to it, pull open the door, and shove her into the driver’s seat.
“I’m not going,” she mutters, crossing her arms and making no move to buckle her seat belt.
And I just…can’t find a fuck to give.
Spinning on my heel, I start for the house, but before I can shut the garage, Courtney is running up the driveway.
“Don’t make me go,” she says, plastering herself to my back.
I mentally calculate if I’ll be able to get the garage door shut before she makes it inside, know that I won’t.
Gritting my teeth, I move quickly, wanting this over as quickly as possible.
I stride through the garage, hit the button to send it rumbling shut again.
All while Courtney clings to my back like a limpet, tits pressed tight to my spine, nails digging into my middle.
Into the house and through the hall, the kitchen.
She starts to relax, to loosen her grip.
At least until I turn away from the stairs and head for the front door. Then she clings tighter, dragging her heels, trying to slow my momentum.
I undo the lock, whip open the door.
“Gray!” she whines.
“Let go,” I grunt, reaching for her arm.
To my surprise, she does.
But she doesn’t go quietly into the good night.
She jumps up and mashes our lips together.
