Chapter 31
Xander
It’s been two months since we signed the divorce papers.
Two months since my life shattered.
Two months of plowing through the days without purpose.
Lottie said it would get better over time. So far, it’s only getting worse.
Cora moved out. I’m staying at the townhouse that, for a brief period, was the happiest home.
I’m staying here, hoping.
Hoping she will come back. Hoping I will figure out how to win her over. Hoping this is just a nightmare I will wake up from.
Instead, the nightmare deepens every time I tumble out of my bed after a sleepless night, feeling shittier than ever.
This morning seems particularly shitty. I’m not even sure why.
The heart is a fucked-up organ. I was smart not to have involved it before. Too late for that now. I hate how hopeless I feel.
I hate how much I miss her.
I hate that I let things go this far.
I hate myself.
They reopened the bistro. Tessa invited me as the investor. And then she eloquently suggested to her former brother-in-law that I shouldn’t spoil the party by showing up.
I put on an old T-shirt—by the smell of it, I must have worn it a few times already—and a pair of sweats.
Downstairs, I do my usual routine, which includes glaring at the dried, withered sunflowers that are probably a health hazard by now, but which I can’t throw out. Like anything she left behind.
It reminds me of what I lost, and I’m the fucker who enjoys the torture.
I walk to work, dressed like a delivery boy instead of a partner, not interested in any of my cars.
The walk is probably the only healthy thing I’ve done in the last eight weeks. I’m only wearing a light jacket, and yes, the remains of my logical brain recognize I will soon get pneumonia because the winter is viciously camping around Manhattan.
I just couldn’t care less.
I’m not even walking to clear my head—such a state has left with my wife. I’m walking because I fucking hope I’ll run into her.
Yep, pathetic much? Absolutely.
Hopeless much? Definitely.
Still obsessed with my wife? Obviously.
And in love. So in love with her.
I get out of the elevator at Merged. For some reason I’ve been showing up, even though I haven’t been working. Not really.
The work has no appeal. It doesn’t spark something. It’s not even about losing Cora. It’s that she showed me there is more to life than work, and now I’m revisiting my future.
It’s bleak without her.
But it’s certainly not what my past used to be.
“Here you are.” Corm turns from the reception where he’s signing something. “My office.”
No fucking way am I having a conversation with him. With anyone.
“I’m leaving.” I call the elevator.
Corm turns to me with that look that makes his worst adversaries keel over. “Now.”
Fuck. My. Life. I trudge behind him.
“Look, man, it’s none of my business—” he starts when we enter his office.
“Exactly.” I pivot to leave.
“I’m going to buy your shares.”
That stops me. “Merged shares?”
“Yes, Cal, Declan, and I—we have been covering your shit, but it’s been too long. This can’t continue. We agreed to buy you out.”
For a split second, I imagine the scenario where I leave Merged. Where the one thing that I built without my father’s cloud, the one thing that rebuilt me after I left the family business, would be gone.
The post-Cora void in my chest is crater-sized. There is no room for any more void, so I nod. “Okay, draft the paperwork.”
Corm’s eyes widen. I guess he was bluffing.
He studies me silently, a predator assessing his prey. “Okay. Will do,” he says finally, and I turn to leave. Again.
“And Xander, you should try to fix things. I don’t mind having a house guest, but it’s been weeks, and your ex-wife doesn’t brighten up the place.”
“Don’t fucking call her my ex-wife.” He’s seen Cora? He knows how she is? Where she is?
“Just facts.” The fucker shrugs and saunters around his desk to sit down. “Interesting how losing the company didn’t affect you, but mention of a woman you already lost riles you up.” He tuts.
I bite at the snarl, because I want him to tell me more. “She’s staying with you?”
He nods. “And as a result, my wife is too distracted, which I really don’t appreciate. Fucking fix it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but it’s been two months, and both of you are miserable. I’m not an expert here, but I don’t think this is a time-heals-all situation.”
Sighing, I exit his office, only to run into Roxy. The last sixty-one days have been just a blur of agony, but today takes the cherry.
“You look…” Roxy muses, “as bad as usual.”
I open my mouth to retort, but why bother? Not that it saves me, but she trails behind me like an infectious disease.
I nod to Lindsay, who looks at me with eyebrows drawn in concern. I swear, every fucking day she just deepens my overall shitty existence with that pity.
“Go away, Roxy,” I snarl, and try to close my door. I want to be wallowing alone. “I have a call,” I lie, hoping to get rid of her.
“No you don’t.” She pushes past me.
I sigh and plop onto my sofa, because lying around is the most I can muster lately. Closing my eyes, I put my hands behind my head.
A shadow prompts me to open them again. Roxy stands above me with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot.
She’s wearing combat boots with a little black dress and a biker jacket. I can’t hold her fashion against her currently, given I’m dressed like a homeless person.
“If you hadn’t blackmailed her, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” she spits.
“I didn’t blackmail her.” I close my eyes again. “And there is no we in this.”
“Yeah, right, you did much worse than blackmail, you lying piece of shit. And there is a we in this equation, because I feel responsible.”
“Watch your words, Roxy; I’m still your boss.”
“A shitty one.”
I open one eye. “Leave, or I will fire you.”
She snorts, but then her face twists. “As I said, I feel responsible—”
“It was I who used the file to exploit her former fiancé’s secrets and her financial situation. You’re absolved. Now fucking leave me alone.”
“I shouldn’t have researched her.”
Out of nowhere, shocking both of us, I jump up, almost spitting into Roxy’s face. “It doesn’t fucking change anything, does it? She is still gone!”
Roxy’s eyes flare. “And what are you doing about it?”
“Respecting her fucking wishes to leave her alone.”
Roxy cackles. “How is that working for you?”
The spurt of energy vanishes, and I collapse back onto the sofa, hiding my face in my hands.
“You look like shit,” she mutters.
“I feel worse,” I mumble into my hands.
There’s a silence. Not of the gentle kind. The heavy, judgmental kind that Roxy wields like a weapon.
“You think being noble makes you a martyr? Please. You’re not some tragic hero. You’re just a coward.” Her words cut.
I drop my hands and glare up at her. “I lied to her, Roxy. Multiple times. I manipulated her entire life. And when she finally trusted me, I smashed it with both hands.”
“Yeah. You did.” She doesn’t flinch. “And yet somehow, I’m still here. Go figure.”
I scoff. “What, you want a medal? Go ahead and abandon me too. You’d do me a favor.”
“No. For some outlandish reason… and perhaps to absolve myself for my part in this, I want you to man up and fix this.”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t want to be fixed.”
“She doesn’t want to be lied to. There’s a difference.” Roxy crosses her arms and gives me that look—that older-sister-with-a-baseball-bat look—she perfected in her first week at Merged. “You know what your problem is?”
“Which one?”
“You’re afraid she’ll forgive you. Because then you’ll have to believe you’re worth it.”
The words hit hard. Like a sucker punch straight to the ribs.
“She deserves better,” I say hoarsely. “Someone who doesn’t sabotage her life. Someone who didn’t start this whole thing with a lie.”
The idea of Cora being with someone else twists painfully in my stomach, acid flaring up my esophagus, squeezing poison into my heart.
“She deserves honesty, you moron. She deserves a choice. You took that from her. And now you’re still taking it—by deciding you’re unworthy on her behalf.”
I drag a hand down my face. “What do you want me to do? Show up at her door with flowers and say sorry I emotionally waterboarded you, but I’m madly in love?”
Roxy rolls her eyes so hard, I swear they echo. “Jesus Christ, yes. Start there. At least you’d be trying.”
I stare at the ceiling. “She has the right to hate me.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But she also had a right to know the truth before she fell for you. And now she has a right to know you didn’t stop falling just because she walked away.”
My chest tightens, and I swallow, hard. “What if I go, and she doesn’t even open the door?”
Roxy shrugs. “Then you wait. Or you write her a damn letter. Or you camp outside with a sign like a rom-com idiot. But you don’t give up. One of the things I always admired about you is that unapologetic drive to win.”
She sits beside me, her voice softening. “You love her, Xander. For once in your perfect fucking life—don’t strategize or buy or talk your way around it. Just love her. Be messy, honest, and vulnerable.”
She leans her head on my shoulder, but then slides away. “And take a shower. You smell of despair and whiskey.”
“She doesn’t believe in my love any more, Roxy.”
“Then make her believe. Look, you’ve been hoping for closure for two months now. I think you should try again.”
For the first time in days, I straighten up. Really sit up.
Because maybe Roxy is right.
Maybe I stopped fighting too soon.
Maybe the next move isn’t about control or pride or punishment.
Maybe it’s just about Cora.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but a glimmer of purpose pushes me up. I walk to the door.
“Where are you going?” Roxy follows me.
“To feed my cats.”
“Jesus, you kept her cats.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl.
Because, yeah, as unhinged as that is, I refused to give Pitt and Clooney up. They are not even my cats, but I kept them… hoping she would keep coming for them.
I guess the fact that she gave up after a few frustrating tries is testament to how much she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. She gave up her cats.
And me? I fucking used her cats like a bargaining chip.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Pitt protests loudly as I snap the carrier’s door shut. Clooney gives me an evil eye, but then collapses into a ball, yawning.
I load them both into my Lambo, hoping the engine doesn’t give up based on my neglect. Pitt continues to mew and get on my nerves the whole ride to Cormac’s residence.
“I know, dude, but you’re going back to your mommy, so stop bitching.”
I pull into the driveway, kill the engine, and turn to look at the two heads glaring at me from behind the barred doors.
“I thought she’d fight for you. But I guess that is yet another thing I lost. The fight over you. And now you. I can’t believe I’m going to miss you.”
And I can’t believe I’m fucking talking to cats.
I get out and look at the mansion, wondering which room is hers. Is she hiding behind one of the windows? Does she sense I’m here?
My heart beats like a wild animal, hammering against my rib cage as I lift both carriers from the passenger seat and make my way to the door.
It bursts open before I even reach the landing. I look up, full of hope and trepidation, but my gaze collides with Saar’s. A very pissed, glaring Saar.
“Took you long enough.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Can I talk to Cora?” I put down the cats.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Saar, for fuck’s sake, tell her I’m here.”
“She knows. And she would be at the door if she wanted to see you.”
An engine approaches, and we both turn. Corm gets out of his car. “Hey, baby. Everything okay?”
He takes two steps at a time and kisses his wife on the temple.
“You’re home early.” She smiles at him, and then turns to glare at me. “I was just telling Xander that Cora doesn’t want to talk to him.”
“Fuck, Saar—” I growl.
“Measure your words, fuckwit. This is my wife you’re talking to.” Corm narrows his eyes.
Saar takes the two carriers and leaves, closing the door behind her.
“How the fuck should I fix it if she doesn’t want to see me?”
Corm shrugs. “I’m sorry, man. I’ll talk to Saar and…” He trails off, because Corm Quinn doesn’t make empty promises.
I get back to my car and drive off, knowing that I have just left behind my only negotiating chip. Or two of them.
But then, this is not a negotiation. This is not a sprint to complete. This is a marathon, and I may have hit burnout, but fuck, I’m going to complete this race, even if it takes me years.
I miss her.
I miss the fucking cats.
I preserved the dead flowers.
Yeah, I bought a spray to preserve dry flowers, cursing myself for not taking care of them sooner.
I have written her ten letters so far. And I’m checking the mailbox for her replies, even though I have sent none of them.
Life moves with fragile tranquility, the world around me flowing unchanged. I haven’t been to work for the past three days.
Instead, I took a shower. I wrote letter after letter. They feel more like journaling… getting my feelings out. And figuring out how to make her life better.
Because after I dropped Pitt and Clooney, I had a breakthrough. I outlined the worst-case scenario. One where Cora moves on. Without me.
And without a shadow of a doubt, I know I would never fully move on. So my contingency for that bleak scenario is to make her life better. Even if I have to do so from afar.
It’s nowhere near being with her.
But it’s slightly less hopeless than living without her. Than dropping the connection completely.
And so I don’t go to work, but I write her letters. And I send a generous donation to C.O.R.A. I also talk to Tessa to ensure the bistro is thriving.
I upgrade her dad’s care, so he gets the best his facility can offer. In the absence of Cora, improving her life makes me feel marginally better.
I don’t expect her to thank me. I don’t need that. In fact, I’m half expecting her to give me shit for meddling in her life.
At night, I wonder if I can survive like this for the rest of my life. Or if I should move to the West Coast and try to forget.
Either option feels like a slow death, but at least here, I’m closer to her, and I don’t have an overbearing family interrupting my self-loathing.
I sit on the sofa that still smells like her—or that’s what I believe—and consider ordering a takeout when my phone rings.
I look at the caller ID, and my heart almost jumps through my throat.
“Saar?”
“Just so we’re clear, I still think you’re a despicable piece of shit.”
“Agreed.” I sigh.
“Don’t be cute with me. I also think she really needs you right now.”
“What’s wrong?” I sit up straight, already searching for my keys.
“It’s her dad.”