Among the Willows (Thornbrush Ranch #1)

1. Romy

1

romy

I needed a big glass of wine.

Scratch that!

A whole damn bottle of cab.

Once again, I was getting laid off from another teaching job because of budget cuts.

I heaved a big sigh, unlocking the front door of my San Jose apartment. This was my fourth school in four years. How they expected any new teachers to make a career out of this was beyond me. Putting up with the behavior of thirteen-year-olds, trying to teach them about history and literature to meet the standards, without any support from administrators, only to end up on the cutting block. As Principal Wayland said, “We’ll have to let you go.” He said it as if I was held against my will and he’s doing me a favor now by setting me free. I can’t say I’m disappointed, but I am frustrated I haven’t even been given a chance to get my feet underneath me.

I dropped my keys and purse off at our entry table, kicking off my high top Converse and letting my tired feet sink into the plush carpet. All I wanted was my quiet apartment, my “girl dinner” of cheese and crackers, and to watch a bunch of hot singles on a beach be forced to abstain from hooking up.

The lights were already on, and I could hear the shower running in the en suite.

Hmm, he’s already home?

He was never home before nine during the week. Now that was something I was actually disappointed about.

A year together, and I’d already gotten used to Travis’s late work nights. I’d often be in bed by the time he came home, usually reading until I fell asleep. The last thing I would hear as I drifted off would be the microwave running as he warmed up leftovers. At some point, he’d slip into bed. In the morning, I’d find him beside me, sound asleep on his stomach.

It was starting to feel like we were two roommates who slept in the same bed and occasionally fucked. But now, even the sex felt as if we were just doing it to get off. If I was being honest with myself, the connection had died a long time ago, and we were just staying together because we couldn’t break our lease.

I walked into our bedroom and headed to the walk-in closet. Shedding my jeans and T-shirt and pulling on my favorite gray sweatpants and oversize tee, I noticed Travis’s phone had slipped out of his discarded work slacks and was just lying there.

Casting a glow every so often, as it lit up with messages.

(@catarinaxoxo) I can’t stop thinking about you.

My breath froze in my chest.

Instagram notifications blinked on his lockscreen.

(@catarinaxoxo) That thing you did with your tongue.

(@catarinaxoxo) What will I do with myself until next time?

What the actual fuck was I seeing?

Travis was cheating on me?

I grabbed the phone off the floor and marched into the bathroom. Steam hit me in the face and filled the room. The shower must be on scalding. Good. I hoped he scorched his balls off or killed whatever germs he contracted from Catarina XOXO. I did not take the time to think. His shower was no more searing than my rage. Fuck him! I chucked his cell phone over the shower curtain and heard it hit Travis with a soft thunk before crashing to the shower floor.

“What the hell was that?” he called out.

“Your cell phone, asshole!” I yelled. My chest heaved, my body vibrating with rage.

“Romy, what the fuck? It’s getting soaked.”

“Put it in rice! Then you can catch up on all your DMs.”

“You were looking at my phone?” asked the cheater.

“You left it in your pants on the floor, and Catarina XOXO was lighting up our closet!”

Soap bottles slipped from their shelves, hitting the shower floor as Travis fumbled to turn off the shower.

The shower curtain flung open with a metal slide of the rings. Grabbing his towel from the rack, he wiped off his phone, then hurriedly wrapped the towel around his waist—his annoyingly trim waist because the man was a nutrition freak. He ran a hand through his dripping-wet, dark hair before setting his cell phone on top of the toilet.

He scrambled out of the shower, careful not to slip, his body tense, as if preparing himself for my onslaught of emotions. Fuck him! Fuck this.

“I was waiting to tell you until our lease was up in August, but I met someone,” he said evenly. His voice was calm. Too calm, like a doctor telling a patient their fatal prognosis.

“Are you serious right now? Fuck our lease, Travis! What were you going to do? Sneak around, sleep with me because you felt obligated while you fucked Christina or whatever her name is?”

“It’s Cat.”

“Excuse-fucking-me, Travis. Are you for real?” I shrieked.

“You and I barely see each other anymore. We’ve been drifting apart for months now.”

“And whose decision was that? You didn’t have to take those hours.”

“The sales are better in the evening. You know that was the best decision for us. You agreed to it.”

I threw up my hands, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling. “Keep telling yourself that. Whatever lets you fucking sleep at night because officially, there is no us .”

“Romy, please.”

“ Please what?”

I waited for him to finish. His mouth opened as if to speak.

“What, huh?”

He shut his trap with a click of his teeth.

“That’s what I thought.” I shook my head, running my tongue across my teeth. “I’m going to Brit’s house.” Brit was my one friend. Since college at San Jose State, we’ve helped each other through many breakups.

“Wha-what about the apartment?” he stammered.

“Fuck the apartment! If you’re so concerned about keeping your deposit, you can ask your sidepiece, ‘ Cat ,’ to move in with you.”

I marched out of the bathroom, charging to the closet to find an overnight bag. I snatched a tote from the shelf and started shoving clothes into it.

“Don’t dismiss our relationship as if it was nothing!” His voice rose as he followed me around the bedroom.

“No, you did that all by yourself,” I said, opening my underwear drawer.

“I care about you. I’ve stuck around.”

“Not enough if you’re banging someone else!” I grabbed a handful of lacy underwear and bras, jamming them into the side pocket of the tote.

“You never want me anymore,” he excused. “You’re always tired.”

“Because the only time you want me is in the middle of the fucking night, and I have to get up at five thirty in the morning!” I snapped. “It has always been on your schedule.”

I turned, heading toward my nightstand, but Travis moved to step in front of it.

“Get out of my way, Travis. I’m leaving.”

“Can we at least talk?” He reached out to touch my arm, but I quickly drew it back. He raised his hands in surrender.

I didn’t like to be touched when I was angry.

“I’m not ready to hear anything you have to say.”

“Romy, please, let’s just cool down, take some breaths, and talk about this?” his big, brown eyes pleaded. Eyes that made me fall for him from the beginning. Now, they were only fucking infuriating.

He was always trying to talk to me when I was angry, instead of giving me the space I needed to process and regulate my emotions. All it did was make me feel as though my feelings were invalid and pissed me off even more.

It made me want to punch him in the face.

“Move!” I blurted out.

Travis stood his ground for a minute, searching my eyes.

“Ugh! Fine!” I pushed him out of my way to get to the nightstand to grab my book, lotion, and vibrator.

“Yeah, don’t forget to take your precious lovebug.”

I shoved the mini ladybug vibrator into my bag, burying it beneath the layers of clothes and hair products.

“Pretty fucking sure you gave that thing way more attention than you ever gave me.”

“So it’s my fault you cheated? Fuck you, Travis!”

It was at that moment a truth dawned on me.

Travis was never home before nine.

“Wait.” My eyes narrowed on him. “Why are you home right now?”

“I—I … what do you mean?” He stammered as if he knew he was caught.

“You don’t get off work till eight thirty.” Like I had to explain his schedule to him.

“I—I—I …”

The stammering son of a bitch!

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to center myself. “How long has this been going on?”

“Wha-what?”

“How long have you been cheating on me, Travis?” I could feel the red-hot lump of rage growing in my throat.

Travis’s body crumpled, folding in on itself as he sat down on the side of the bed. Defeated. His hands drooped between his legs.

“For four months,” he relented.

“Four fucking months! You took me to your sister’s wedding in March! I met your family! And you were fooling around with someone else this whole time? Are you for real? I bet you don’t even work till eight thirty, do you?”

“I’m off at four.” He confessed so quietly, it barely registered.

“Unbelievable!” I threw up my hands.

I was so done with his bullshit.

“Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t you dare show up at Brit’s. We’re fucking over.”

Then I walked out of there with my shoulders squared and a stiff upper lip, just like my mama taught me.

It wasn’t until I was in the safety of my white Honda Civic before I could yell “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs. Tears of hot anger coursed down my cheeks.