Page 89 of The Cabin

A beat.

Then, everyone starts talking at once. Natalie is the loudest, screeching, “Excuse me?” at the top of her lungs. Her lawyer is puffing up his chest rumbling a bunch of nonsense while Mr. B tries to engage with Grayson, but Grayson only has eyes for me. I can feel him burning a hole in the side of my face. Still, I don’t look at him.

“I said,” I call above the voices. Shockingly, everyone quiets (thank you ‘teacher voice’). “You beat the shit out of him. So, what does that do to your bargaining power, exactly? Infidelity and domestic abuse. How do they compare? I’m only familiar with the infidelity, not the abuse.” I direct my last question to the two lawyers at the head of the table.

“Those are hearsay accusations and you cannot –”

Grayson’s lawyer interrupts. “They’re comparable. Some courts consider them the same category. That infidelity is a kind of abuse, or can lead to abuse. A judge would be extremely interested.” This guy’s face may never move, but he’s good. He knows how to play the game. He doesn’t have any proof that what I’m saying is true, and yet he plays the game like a pro.

“Mrs. Stoker is the one who has suffered in this marriage. We will not stand for such grossly inappropriate accusations.”

“I have pictures, Natalie (NO I freaking don’t???). He had bruises all over, every time I saw him. Scratches up and down his arms. His back. And those were just the visible injuries…You forced –”

“I’ll sign.” She says it so quickly I almost don’t understand her.

Her lawyer starts back pedaling immediately. “Mrs. Stoker isn’t in the right state of mind. She is being forced to sit across her husband’s mistress while –”

“I’ll sign the papers,” she insists, eyes never leaving mine.

“And an NDA. An NDA stating you cannot talk about the reason for the divorce without legal repercussion.”

“Now wait just one –” I almost feel sorry for Mr. Mustache. But there is no better legal representation than a woman scorned. I’ve been through every brutal second of this process, and defending Lumberjack over here means everything to me.

“Fine. Give me the papers.”

—

My heart beat is in my ears, kind of making it feel like I’m on an airplane. I am experiencing the most jarring and dramatic adrenaline crash of my lifetime. Holy shit. Holyshit.This is so much crazier than when I stood up to Natalie in the cabin the other day.

She signed the papers. They just have to show up in court and hand the papers in and Grayson is officially divorced. And I supported him in that. At least I can say I did something good for the person who has shown me what real kindness is. What healthy relationships look like. Even if I don’t have the guts to do anything else. I’m hoping this will at least let him know I really, truly cared. In so many more ways than one.

We’re sitting in the truck, facing our hotel. Neither of us have spoken. Not on the car ride over, not since just sitting here, staring, lost in our own thoughts. I think we’re both in shock. This trip has had so many ups and downs. I did not see a single thing that happened this weekend coming. Except maybe my parent’s reaction when I called them. And I’m sure Grayson doesn’t even know what to do right now. I knew exactly how my divorce was going to pan out and I still felt untethered once things were official.

I want to reach out and touch him. To hold his hand or rub his arm. Those things would have been warm and friendly last week. Now, I’m terrified they’ll rat me out. They’ll symbolize how much more this is for me than a hookup. Grayson is naturally affectionate. I think he needs it in all of this, it’s an important part of this rebound. I have given him zero affection. It hasn’t been my normal from the start, and if I started doing it now, he’d know. And he’d cut things off.

I know I said that shouldn’t affect me. I know he wants me to act exactly how I’m feeling. It’s just so much fucking harder to make myself do it.

He clears his throat. Oh no. No, no, no. We can’t do sentimental. We cannot do big, deep feelings. I can’t survive it. I’m already hanging by a thread and when he cuts it, I am going to spiral all the way back down to heartbreak. “Sol, I do–”

A smile. A hand on the truck door handle. “Don’t worry about it. Consider it my ‘thank you’ for how welcoming you’ve been.” I have to shove myself out the door as quickly as possible because the look of hurt on his face is enough to eat me alive.

I don’t stop speed walking until my back is leaning up against the inside of my hotel room door. My chest rises and falls. I can’t keep pace with how much oxygen I need.

Just another example of Coward Sol, who lets fear ruin her life.

Chapter 24

Throwing my bag on the floor next to the door, I beeline for the couch and plop myself down haphazardly, bouncing off the cushions a few times before sinking in and grabbing a pillow to hide my face under.

I let another six-hour trip go by in silence. I was embarrassed and didn’t know how to bring up any of the million things I needed to apologize for. We didn’t talk about dancing at the bar. We didn’t talk about what happened after. We didn’t talk about the conference room. And we didn’t talk about the suffocating elephant in the room: my baggage.

The really scary part is he was the first person I wanted to tell about my parents’ shitty phone call and my lunch with Cruz. I had been wishing all night that he was there with me at the bar. I wanted to laugh with him about the drama I overheard when we were checking out this morning. But I didn’t tell him and I never invited him. Didn’t call or even text.

“Are you hungry?” His voice sounds defeated. Stop being nice to me!Please! It’s killing me. I’m being crushed to death by equal parts guilt and feelings for him. I can’t take it.

The best I can muster is a non-committal grumble from under the pillow. He leaves it at that.

He ‘leaves it at that’ for days. He pretty much went right to bed when we got back Sunday night, and both Monday and Tuesday he spent working outside most of the day. He’s not ignoring me, but he’s not initiating any contact. And he is still doing heartbreakingly thoughtful little things to look after me. He brought the pillow I sleep on in his bed out to the couch for me in one of the very brief moments I managed to peel myself off it and go to the bathroom. He’s set out a cup of coffee for me in the microwave every morning. He went to the store and got more of my body wash I had run out of (although that’s partially his fault). He hasn’t said a single word to me unless we’re passing each other in the same space, and yet I feel like I am covered in his words. Every time I notice something he did. I don’t know how I’m possibly supposed to bring any of the things up that I need to bring up when I’ve let days and days go by. Does it even matter what I have to say at this point? The damage is done.

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