29. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Walker
Three days after Vegas
I ’m reading the same chapter on rotator cuff injuries for what must be the tenth time when my phone pings with a text from Morgan. I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been on pins and needles since we got back from the trip, waiting for her to reach out. It’s been killing me to give her the space that she asked for when I drove us home from the airport, and concentrating on anything other than my anxiety has been nearly impossible.
Alright - I’ve figured everything out.
I smile reading her message because I can picture her saying those words—it makes me miss her even more than I already do.
I’m all ears, little devil.
She starts typing, and her fingers must have flown over the keyboard at lightning speed because her response comes through quickly.
Annulment seems like way too much work.
We’ll have to get a divorce once the papers come through.
Sound good?
A tsunami of disappointment slams into me, cracking open my chest and washing away my excitement. I have to read the message several times to make sure that I’m not seeing things, before pressing the lock button on my phone.
I stand and walk to the bar in the corner of my office, pouring myself a generous glass of bourbon. I slam it back without even thinking, savoring the burn as the smoky liquid slides down my throat.
Morgan and I have been seeing each other for a little over a month now, and we only made the decision to dive into something more exclusive several days ago. It shouldn’t surprise me that this is what she wants. So why does it hurt worse than the day I received divorce papers from my first marriage?
I pour myself another drink and walk over to the bookshelves, eyeing the section of Morgan’s recommendations that I displayed in front of my desk. Initially, I told myself that I would hide them, but when the books came in the mail, all I wanted to do was place them front and center because they reminded me of her—of how she swirled into my life and swept me away.
Getting married again wasn’t on the table for me. And with any other person, I’d immediately sign the papers and move on with my life. But with Morgan, I know without a doubt that I can be a good husband to her—I can show her that our love story can end the way it does in the books she reads.
This isn’t the exact path I would have chosen for us, but it’s the one I know will end happily ever after . . . eventually.
So I sit back down behind my desk and open my phone, knowing without a doubt that my response to my wife is going to piss her off.
I’m not signing divorce papers.
Two weeks after Vegas
While patience isn’t a common characteristic of an orthopedic surgeon, it’s something I thrive at—just ask any of my interns from the fall. I’ll stand in silence as I watch them make a mistake and only interject when it’s necessary. I’m comfortable giving them time to learn and figure out the correct course of action without intervening because I feel like growth is more meaningful when it comes from inside.
And that’s exactly how I’m approaching this situation with Morgan. I’m giving her the time and space to come to the same realization I did after the trip—we belong together.
Were there moments when I waffled on staying married? Sure.
It’s only natural when you fail at something to have doubts about attempting it again. But those doubts were fleeting and dissipated as soon as I settled back into my normal life.
I know that Morgan will get there too, it might just take her a little longer. And I’m happy to wait until she does.
Three weeks after Vegas
I’ll serve as your personal sex slave for the weekend if you divorce me.
This is the first time Morgan has resorted to offering sexual favors in exchange for divorce. Admittedly, it would be convincing if I were the kind of man who thought only with his cock, especially because she knows that this is a fantasy of mine.
Tell me more.
I have zero intention of giving in, but I’m curious how far I can get her to go before she gets irritated and resorts to her dramatics. She thinks I’m stubborn, but she’s right there with me.
Whatever you want to do to me within our negotiated limits is on the table for a straight 48 hours, Sir.
I love how she thinks that calling me “Sir” is going to make me agree to her terms. Sure, my cock just jumped in my scrubs as I imagined what we could do with that amount of unrestricted playtime, but it’s going to happen one day regardless—I just have to be patient.
I don’t think you could behave for that long, little devil.
She immediately responds.
We could find out.
If you would divorce me.
I smile, missing her to death but also confident in my response.
I’m sure we’ll find out regardless.
You’re stuck with me.