Chapter 22
Kayla
The house feels like a shell, hollowed out and empty of all the life we once breathed into it.
I trail my fingers along the bare wall of what used to be our living room, the faint rectangle of lighter paint the only evidence that my grandmother’s antique mirror once hung here.
Everything that made this space ours is gone now; packed away in storage or donated, leaving nothing but echoing rooms and memories I’m trying desperately to ignore.
“The hardwood floors are a major selling point,” my realtor, Diane, says as she makes notes on her tablet. Her voice bounces off the bare walls, too loud in the empty space. “And the open-concept kitchen and living area is what buyers are looking for these days.”
I nod, not really listening. She’s been rattling off selling points since we walked through the front door, pointing out features that made Roman and me fall in love with this house.
“The master bedroom has that wonderful en-suite bathroom with the soaking tub,” she continues as we move down the hallway. “And the walk-in closet is generous for a house this age.”
The bedroom is the worst. Without our bed, without the photographs that used to line the dresser, without our clothes in the closet, it’s just a box with walls.
“I know how wonderful it all is,” I say, cutting Diane off mid-sentence about my pottery studio. “I’m sorry. This is just really hard. I think I’m going to go look at the backyard one last time.”
She looks surprised but nods. “Of course. The backyard is another great selling feature. The lot size is considerably larger than average for this neighborhood.”
I lead the way through the kitchen; empty now of the mismatched mugs that Roman always teased me about collecting and the potted herbs that stood on the counter, and out the back door. The winter air is crisp and cold, but the weak sunshine feels good on my face after the stifling emptiness inside.
And then I see them. The raised garden beds that Roman helped me build last year.
Those perfect rectangles of cedar, arranged in a tidy row along the back fence.
For just a moment, I’m back in that summer day.
Roman’s bare chest gleaming with sweat as he worked.
Sitting together on the back steps afterwards, dreaming of what I’d plant come spring.
My throat tightens. Someone else will benefit from the beds Roman built with his own hands.
My eyes drift to the flower beds along the side of the yard where I’d carefully planted tulip and daffodil bulbs last fall. In a few months, they’ll be pushing up through the soil, reaching for the sun. By spring, they’ll be a riot of color and fragrance. And I won’t be here to see it.
“Are you all right, Kayla?” Diane asks, concern creasing her forehead.
I blink rapidly, forcing back the sting of tears. “Fine. Just… saying goodbye, I guess.”
She nods sympathetically. “It’s always hard to leave a home you’ve loved. But think of the exciting new chapter ahead! That job opportunity in Billings sounds wonderful.”
The job. Yes. At least I have that to look forward to.
Three weeks ago, I’d received a call from a woman named Cassie, who owns a landscaping company in Billings.
She’d seen my work at her cousin’s property here in Redbird and wanted to offer me a position.
Senior landscape designer with a salary that made my eyes widen when she named the figure.
“It was an incredible stroke of luck,” I say, trying to focus on the positive. “The timing couldn’t have been better.”
“Sometimes the universe has a way of opening doors when others close,” Diane says as she goes back to whatever she’s doing on her tablet.
I’m about to respond when the rumble of a motorcycle engine cuts through the quiet afternoon. My heart leaps before I can stop it. I turn toward the street, telling myself it could be anyone, but I already know.
Roman pulls up to the curb, cuts the engine, and dismounts in one fluid motion. Even from this distance, I can see the difference in him. His shoulders are still broad, his stride still confident as he walks up the driveway, but something has changed. It takes me a moment to realize what it is.
His cut is gone. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve rarely seen Roman without his leather vest emblazoned with the Devil’s Rejects insignia. It was like a second skin to him. But now he’s wearing only a plain leather jacket over a black t-shirt.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Diane murmurs, already retreating toward the house. “Just come find me when you’re ready to finish up.”
Roman stops a few feet away from me, his eyes taking in the empty yard, the garden beds, then finally settling on my face. The anger that used to sear through me at the sight of him has faded to a dull ache, leaving behind a bone-deep sadness that feels more permanent somehow.
“Hey,” he says simply.
“Hey,” I echo, unsure what else to say. It’s strange how you can share a bed with someone for years, share a life, and then suddenly become awkward strangers.
“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice softer than I’m used to hearing it.
I gesture vaguely at the house behind me. “Just doing a final walkthrough. It goes on the market next week, and Diane says she’s already getting interest.”
He nods, glancing at the garden beds. “I heard you got a job in Billings. That’s great, Kayla. Really.”
“Thanks.” I study his face, the new lines around his eyes, the shadows beneath them. “You’re not wearing your cut.”
He starts to rub his chest with his hand. “No. I’m no longer part of the Devil’s Rejects.”
The statement is so unexpected that for a moment I think I’ve misheard him. “What? But… they’re your family. The club is everything to you.”
Roman shrugs, a small, sad movement. “They shouldn‘t have been. They shouldn’t have been more important to me than you. And after what happened to you, after how they treated you, I couldn’t stay.
” His eyes meet mine, unguarded in a way I’ve rarely seen.
“None of it means anything without you, Sunshine.”
The old pet name sends a pang through my chest. I want to be unmoved, to hold on to the anger that has sustained me through everything, but I can feel it slipping away like water through cupped hands.
“I wish you’d realized that sooner,” I say, unable to keep the regret from my voice.
Roman takes a step closer, hope flickering across his face. “Is it too late? Because I swear to you, Kayla, I will never prioritize anyone or anything over you ever again. I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life proving that to you, if you’ll just give me one more chance—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “It is too late, Roman.” The words hurt to say, but they’re true. “I can’t forget. I can’t forget being alone and terrified in that warehouse while you were promising Naomi that nothing was more important to you than her safety.”
Roman flinches at the mention of Kit, but I press on.
“And it’s not just what happened during the kidnapping.
It’s the months before that. It’s the way you shut me out of the most important parts of your life, and I let you.
” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the sun.
“I knew you were hiding things from me, and I never truly protested. I never pushed back. I just… accepted it.”
“Kayla—”
“I need to leave this place and figure out who I am,” I continue, the words pouring out now. “I need to understand why I let you sideline me so easily. Because the truth is, I don’t trust you right now, but I also don’t trust myself.”
Roman stands there, his hands hanging helplessly at his sides, pain etched into every line of his face. After a long moment, he nods, accepting defeat.
“I understand,” he says quietly. “But Kayla? If you ever need me for anything, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll never leave you alone in the dark again.”
He turns to go, and I watch him walk away, back straight, shoulders squared, fighting to maintain his dignity even as I’ve crushed his hopes. The sight of him leaving makes my chest ache with a fresh wave of grief for everything we’ve lost.
By the time I find Diane waiting in the kitchen, I’ve managed to compose myself. As I pull out of the driveway for the last time, I don’t look back at the house or the garden beds or the flower bulbs sleeping beneath the winter soil, waiting for a spring I won’t be here to see.
* * *
The courthouse bathroom is mercifully empty as I splash cold water on my face, trying to erase the evidence of tears.
I hadn’t expected to cry during the proceedings.
I’ve had months to prepare for this moment, after all, but when the judge pronounced our marriage officially dissolved, something broke loose inside me.
The dam I’d carefully constructed crumbled, and I’d barely made it through the final paperwork before excusing myself to fall apart in private.
I pat my face dry with a rough paper towel, studying my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are still puffy despite my efforts, but at least the mascara streaks are gone. I look tired. Sad. But also somehow lighter, as if something heavy has been set down after being carried too long.
“It’s done,” I whisper to my reflection. “It’s over.”
The words should bring relief, but instead, they hollow out a space inside me that aches with emptiness. I take a deep breath, straighten my blazer, and gather my purse. Time to go home; to my new apartment in Billings, to my new job, to my new life.
When I push open the bathroom door, I stop short.
Roman is leaning against the wall across the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor.
He’s wearing a suit, although he’s already loosened the tie.
I’ve seen him in a suit exactly twice before: on our wedding day and the night of our disastrous date.
The sight of him dressed so formally makes my heart skip traitorously.
He looks up at the sound of the door, and our eyes lock. For a moment, neither of us speaks. What is there to say now that a judge has officially severed the ties between us?
“I thought you might have already left,” I finally say, clutching my purse strap like it’s a lifeline.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Roman replies, pushing off the wall to stand straight.
I consider lying, saying I’m fine, but what’s the point of pretenses now? “I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard,” I admit. “It’s silly. I’ve known this was coming for months.”
“It’s not silly.” His voice is gentle, lacking the hard edge I grew accustomed to in our years together.
An older couple passes us in the hallway, giving us curious glances. We must make a strange picture, standing together awkwardly in a courthouse hallway, not quite looking at each other.
“Are you okay to drive?” Roman asks, gesturing vaguely toward the exit. “I could give you a ride if you need it.”
“I’m fine to drive,” I say. “Thank you, though.”
He nods, and we fall into another silence, heavier than the first. There’s so much unsaid between us, so many words that might have made a difference once but now seem pointless to speak aloud.
“The house sold for more than we expected,” I say finally, grasping for neutral ground. “Are you sure you want me to have everything from the sale? It seems—” I hesitate, searching for the right word. “It seems like you should get something too.”
Roman’s mouth quirks up at one corner, not quite a smile. “I’m sure, Kayla. I want you to have everything you need to start your new life.”
“But what about you? Don’t you need—”
“I have enough,” he interrupts gently.
I study his face, looking for signs of the anger or resentment I’d expected. But all I see is a quiet resignation, an acceptance of what we’ve become to each other; strangers who once knew each other intimately.
“How’s the new job going?” he asks.
“Good. It’s good.” I nod, grateful for the shift to safer territory. “I like working for Cassie, and her business is growing fast. She has me working on some really wonderful projects.”
“Cassie’s lucky to have you. You’ve always been talented.” The pride in his voice makes my chest ache. “And Billings? You like it there?”
“It’s a change after living in such a small town. But yes, I like it.” I shift my weight, suddenly aware we’re having the most normal conversation we’ve had in months. “How are things with you?”
A shadow crosses his face. “Taking it day by day.”
I want to ask if he misses it — the brotherhood, the sense of belonging — but I’m afraid of the answer. Afraid that despite everything, he regrets leaving the Devil’s Rejects for me, especially now that we’re not even together.
We stand there for another moment, neither of us quite ready to walk away, but with nothing left to say.
Roman is close enough that I can smell his familiar scent: leather and sandalwood and something uniquely him.
Close enough that if I took two steps forward, I could rest my head against his chest one last time.
The urge to feel his arms around me, to be held by him just once more before we truly part ways, is almost overwhelming.
My body actually sways slightly toward him before I catch myself.
Asking for that last embrace feels dangerous, like striking a match near spilled gasoline. Some doors are better left closed.
“I should go,” I say, tightening my grip on my purse. “I have a long drive ahead of me.”
Roman nods, his blue eyes searching my face as if memorizing it. “Take care of yourself, Kayla.”
“You too, Roman.” I force myself to turn away, to put one foot in front of the other, to walk toward the elevator and not look back.
“Be happy, Sunshine,” he says softly as I leave, the words floating after me like autumn leaves.
In my car, I sit with my hands on the wheel, fighting the urge to break down again. It would be so easy to surrender to the grief, to let the tears come until I’m empty. But I’ve done enough crying over the past months to fill an ocean.
Instead, I turn the key in the ignition, put the car in drive, and point it toward the highway that will take me back to Billings. Back to my apartment with its still-unpacked boxes. Back to my job with its challenges and opportunities. Back to the future I’m building, brick by careful brick.
As I merge onto the interstate, I allow myself one glance in the rearview mirror, not at the courthouse, but at the mountains in the distance, solid and unchanging. Then, I fix my eyes on the road ahead and press the accelerator, moving forward, always forward.