Chapter 2
GRACE
“Cygnature Blooms, this is Tuesday.”
“I swear, if your husband’s ex-girlfriend looked down her nose at me any harder, she’d have given herself vertigo.
” I juggle my phone between my ear and shoulder while trying to unlock the apartment door, grocery bags biting into my fingers.
Rain drips off my hair and down my back, my sandals squelching against the welcome mat.
“Oh, god,” Tuesday gasps. “Ainsley?”
“Yes. The very one. She stared at my cart like I’d personally offended her with my choice of off-brand soup.”
“Bless her heart,” Tuesday drawls. “I’ll pray for her poor, judgmental soul. There ain’t nothing cute about being rude.”
I giggle.
“You mark my words, that chick is going to show up on Dateline one day.”
I realign my phone on my shoulder as I try to push the keys in the lock. “What on earth are you talking about, crazy?”
“She kept hanging out with this guy when she dated Alex. He gave off a vibe that he had duct tape and rope in his trunk kind of energy.” She laughs. “And not the good kind.”
I snort. “You’re ridiculous. You’ve been watching too much true crime.”
“Plus, I brought my puppy to the rescue squad to let my friends play with him, and my dog didn’t like him. That was all I needed to know.”
“Oh my gosh, girl.”
The door swings open. Two apples tumble from one of my bags and roll across the floor.
“Shit fire,” I mutter.
Brad is sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, Top Gun blasting on the television in front of him.
Thanks for getting up to help. I mean, it’s not like it’s the tenth time you’ve seen this movie this month.
“Hey, babe,” he murmurs without looking away.
I step inside, toeing the door closed behind me.
“I miss you,” Tuesday says softly. “Do I need to come there to see you?”
“I’d love that,” I say automatically, unloading groceries onto the counter. “Mom’s just too sick for me to get away. Between you and me, the neighbor has been spending too much time there. And she’s not a good influence.”
“Babe,” Brad’s voice is more curt now. Turning to look over my shoulder, I find him pressing a finger to his lips, shushing me.
This douchecanoe is shushing me!
Something ugly twists in my chest. I’ve worked all day at a job that treats me like crap.
I stopped by Mom’s to make sure she had her medication and something for dinner.
I sprinted through a downpour to buy groceries I could barely afford only to come home looking like a wet raccoon.
And the man who swore he adored me can’t even pause his movie to help carry in the groceries?
“You still there?” Tuesday asks.
“Yeah.”
“Let me guess. Brad’s home.”
She’s never liked him. Tuesday, now happily married and living in North Carolina, has only met him a handful of times. Yet she clocked him fast. I’ve tried not to overshare. I don’t need every call turning into Tough Love with Tuesday. But it’s getting harder to hide the truth.
“He’s just watching a movie,” I lie, glancing at him. He’s barely watching. It’s like Top Gun has turned into permanent background noise in this apartment. And his hand is definitely down his pants.
Oh my god.
Tuesday launches into a full Southern rant about lazy men and wasted potential.
I let it wash over me while lining up soup cans and bread on the counter.
“I mean, I’m married to the greatest guy on earth.
And he’s a firefighter paramedic, but don’t think if he suffered an injury that beer and electrical tape wouldn’t be the first thing he grabbed. ”
“Tuesday.” I giggle. But she’s probably not wrong. Yet, my life is already a tornado. I don’t have the energy to handle Brad on top of everything else.
“I can’t deal with him right now. It’s just… Mom, money, the awful job, and trying to get into school. Arguing with Brad will have to come later,” I whisper.
“Oh, honey,” she murmurs. “Is there anything I can do? You want me to come up there and kick him to the curb for ya?”
“No.” I snicker. “But if the neighbor can watch Mom one weekend, I’ll let you know, and we can plan something.”
“Okay, babe. Keep your chin up. The world has a way of knocking the pretty off your plans if you let it. So don’t let it!”
After we hang up, Brad finally looks at me.
“C’mon,” he says, giving himself a lazy stroke. “It’s been a long time since you gave me a blowy.”
My stomach lurches. Is he for real? “I’m making dinner,” I say flatly, turning away. “You didn’t work today?”
“Rained.” Construction. I used to feel sorry for how he had to deal with the relentless elements of severe heat and cold. But over the last year, it seems as if he’s home more than he’s at any jobsite.
He wanders into the kitchen later, eyes the soup, and frowns. “Why can’t you ever make real food?”
“Because real food costs money,” I snap. “You could help, you know.”
“I’m saving for tools. And if you’d just apply for modeling jobs, we’d be rolling in it.”
“I’ve told you that’s not happening. I’m no model.
And hard work is reliable.” This guy. He’s been going on and on about how I could make it big in modeling since the day we met.
I thought it was a pick-up line at first. Now I can’t help but wonder if it’s merely another way to attempt to free load off of me.
He scoffs. “Yeah. I’ll starve on your honest day’s pay.” Brad storms out. Probably back to Tinder. Or does he prefer jacking off to Maverick and the Iceman?
Two days later, I come home to silence.
No TV.
No couch.
None of his clothes in the closet. The drawers are empty.
He even gutted our freaking pantry.
He’s gone.
And he took almost everything with him.