Chapter 28
28
Whit Bowman
“ K nock, knock.”
Glancing up from the spot on the coffee table that I’ve been staring at for the last hour, I watch as Shooter and Sterling walk through my front door, both of them wearing matching sympathetic expressions that make me want to crawl in a hole as they sit beside me on the couch. I grit my teeth as I fight the urge to move away. This morning, I called Shooter and asked him to come over, and I’m already regretting it. I don’t want them seeing me like this. I’m still wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday when I left Conrad’s house.
My scrubs.
And I didn’t even go to work. I called in sick. In all the years I’ve worked there, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called in. It’s just not what I do. I work through my problems. The clinic has always been a place for me to get lost in my work and forget about what’s bothering me, but I just couldn’t. Not today.
“How are you doing?” The question comes from Sterling, and the concern in his voice has tears springing to my eyes.
I can’t cry.
I cannot.
Not again, and certainly not in front of my friends.
Shrugging, I say, “I’ve been better.”
“What happened?” Shooter asks.
“Conrad and I got into a huge argument last night, and I told him I couldn’t keep up the married charade. And I left. After realizing his nana heard the whole thing.”
“What was the argument about?”
I blow out a breath, trying to decide how much I want to tell them. The idea of divulging my money problems has me nauseous, but I don’t know how to explain what happened without offering that part too.
And I need to talk about this. It’s been eating at me since last night.
Deciding to go for it, I tell them everything; the nurse for my dad, the costs, the late payments, the loan. Everything, ending with how Conrad paid the entire thing off behind my back.
When I’m done, neither of them says a word for a moment. The silence is deafening, and it feels like it goes on forever. I rub my thumbs over my fingers to steady myself, but it’s not working. My nerves are shot, and I haven’t been able to calm myself down all night. I barely slept, and it feels like I’m riding on the edge of one long panic attack that never fully goes away, no matter how many deep breaths I take.
“So, he paid off your mortgage for you?” Shooter confirms. “Not to sound ignorant, but I’m not really seeing the problem.” Sterling smacks his boyfriend’s arm, and Shooter jumps back. “What? I’m serious. That sounds really sweet. He was trying to help.”
A dry laugh bubbles past my lips, even though none of this is funny. “It’s a couple hundred thousand dollars, Shooter.” When he’s still looking at me like he doesn’t see the issue, I add, “That he paid off without communicating with me first. Don’t you get it? Our marriage fell apart because he couldn’t communicate with me. He shut me out, and he essentially did the same thing again. He took matters into his own hands without even having a conversation with me about it. It’s just…so screwed up. I’ve fought tooth and nail to get myself to a good place by myself after we got a divorce, and then he swoops in and takes it all from me in the blink of an eye without even considering how it would make me feel.”
“I would be upset if it were me,” Sterling offers, both of us turning to look at him.
“You would?” Shooter asks.
“Yes. A relationship is nothing without trust and communication,” he explains. “I would feel very hurt if you did something that major behind my back, even if your intentions were good.”
“But he was trying to help,” Shooter says, brow furrowing. “He knew you were stressed out, and he wanted to help.”
“It’s not his place, baby.” The patience Sterling always has with Shooter is astonishing. They truly are made for one another. “If he wanted to help, he should’ve had a conversation with Whit.”
“Exactly.” Blowing out a breath, I scrub a hand down my face, exhaustion gripping me. “He did it all behind my back, and that’s what hurts the most. Especially because it felt like we were finally getting somewhere. I was finally accepting my feelings for him again, and then this happens, and it reminded me about why we ended in the first place.”
“So, what now?”
The simple question feels like a thousand tiny shards of glass puncturing my heart. It has my throat tightening and my eyes burning. “I don’t know,” I croak. I look up, doing my very best to keep the tears from falling. I don’t want to cry again. I spent all goddamn night crying. “What if we’re not meant to be together? What if last time was our shot, and it’s not in the cards for us? What if I’m only fooling myself?”
“Deep down, in your heart of hearts, do you believe that?” Shooter asks, his tone soft.
“I don’t know!” I admit, my voice cracking, as I try my hardest not to cry. I cannot. “I don’t know what’s my heart talking and what’s the fear in my mind trying to protect myself.”
“Do you love him?” This time, the question comes from Sterling.
“Of course, I love him.” The words fly out of my mouth before my brain has a chance to catch up, and they hit me square in the chest. My hand comes up, covering my mouth as my eyes widen. Oh my god… I still love him. The pressure continues to build behind my eyes, and I have to stand up and walk away from them to grip my bearings. Dragging in a deep breath, I hold it for a five count before exhaling. When I’m sure I won’t lose it, I turn back around and face them, speaking the only truth I know. “Maybe I’ve always loved him. And maybe I always will. I don’t know where to go from here, but I also don’t know if love is enough.”
“What do you need from us?” Sterling asks. “What can we do?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” I murmur. “I can’t ask you guys that.”
“You’re not asking,” Shooter points out. “We’re offering, and we want to help. It’s what friends are for.”
Fresh tears fall, and I turn away, hating how emotional I am right now. This is something I’d do for either of them, or any of our friends, in a heartbeat, yet having them ask me this feels like too much. I feel pathetic.
“Give us a task,” Shooter urges, grabbing my knee and squeezing gently once, twice, three times. It grounds me somehow.
Wiping the back of my hand over my wet cheek, I exhale a deep breath. “Could you possibly go over to Conrad’s and get some stuff for me? I can’t face him, and all my clothes and toiletries are over there.”
“You want us to get everything?” Shooter asks cautiously.
“All of it,” I say firmly, my chest aching. “I don’t know how I’m going to feel once this is settled, but I know I can’t go back there. His nana already knows we aren’t married anyway, so there’s no point.”
Shooter nods, understanding. “You got it. I’ll give him a call and let him know we’ll swing by in the morning. Give him a chance to get it all together.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything you need,” he says. “But Whit?” I look up, meeting his gaze. “Don’t close yourself off to the idea of you guys just yet. Give yourself some time to think it all over, maybe cool down, but don’t shut him out yet. For what it’s worth, there’s nobody in my eyes more meant to be together than you two. You love him, and I know he’s in love with you. Just because it didn’t work out before doesn’t mean it can’t ever work out, not if your heart is in the right place and you both want it.”
Emotion clogs my throat, and I can’t do anything more than nod. We all stand up, and I walk them to the front door. After they both give me a hug, they head out, leaving me with my big emotions. I don’t know what to do. After so many years, I got used to the idea that we were done. That despite loving him with my entire soul, it didn’t work out. I accepted that somewhere along the way, but having experienced his love again, it feels impossible to walk away, yet at the same time, it feels like walking into a bear den and asking to not get bit.
Is getting my heartbroken again inevitable?
Or is Shooter right…? Were Conrad and I meant to find our way back to each other?