Chapter 13
Jay
Since Aiden returned to New York, my life has been one exhausting obstacle after another. The day he left, dread overwhelmed me at the reality of facing the chaos of my life alone without him. But he needed to get back to his life and not stay here any longer to deal with my bullshit.
We agreed to be friends, and I know that’s for the best. That night on the beach—when I poured my heart out and looked at him like a lost puppy so desperate for a kiss that it made my teeth ache—haunts me during the darkest moments at night, when all I can think about are my biggest regrets.
He was kind and let me down easy, even saying he wasn’t rejecting me, but I get it.
I understand how much of a mess I am, and who wants to be with someone as fucked up as me.
And that part where I asked him a huge favor, not to tell me about his sex life, because I couldn’t handle hearing about it.
How pathetic was that? There are still nights I wake up in the middle of the night, recalling that conversation with utter mortification.
But he’s honored my request, and he keeps his activities to himself.
He’s truly committed to being friends as if it’s his job. We talk almost every day and text often, mostly jokes and funny memes. On days when I feel overwhelmed, he talks me through it and listens carefully to my rants.
Dealing with all of Ray’s bullshit hasn’t been easy. I knew he would make breaking up difficult, but luckily, Heather is a pit bull and has handled most of the details for me, so I don’t have to deal with him directly.
Today is the day of the meeting with the district attorney.
“Mr. Taylor, Ms. Taylor, thank you for coming in,” he greets Heather and me as we enter his small office on the second floor of the courthouse.
“As I mentioned over the phone, we’d like to discuss the options regarding the case against Mr. Murphy.
I understand you don’t want to proceed to a trial. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” Heather answers for me.
She’s pissed that I don’t want to push for the harshest punishment possible, but after long conversations about it, I finally convinced her to let it go. I can’t bring myself to deal with it and have to relive the experience in court. I just want him out of my life for good.
The district attorney folds his hands on the desk.
“We’ve prepared a plea offer to present to his attorney later today, if that is acceptable to you,” he explains.
“It reduces the charge to a misdemeanor and does not include jail time. He would be required to attend anger management classes, and once he completes the stipulations, he can leave the state, as he’s requested. ”
It’s smaller than the punishment Heather wants, but larger than nothing. For a moment, Heather’s mouth twists. I can see the list of what she wants to do—press harder, punish more, make it hurt—but I’ve already decided what I need.
“It works for me,” I say before Heather can object.
I’m fine with whatever they offer him. I want the possibility, however flawed, that I won’t run into him at my favorite bar or even walking down the street. If he wants to leave the state, let him go.
“Very well,” the district attorney states, “I’ll forward this to his counsel today.”
With that out of the way, it’s time to get him out of my house. He received a thirty-day notice to vacate nearly two months ago, but he’s refused to leave, insisting it’s his house and that he doesn’t have to go.
A week after he accepted the plea deal, we have mediation to resolve the remaining issues and separate our lives. I’d hoped to avoid seeing him again, but he would only agree to mediation if I showed up in person.
Physically I’m mostly healed, but the mental and emotional fallout is another story. My stomach flips as I pull into the parking lot. Before I go in, I call Aiden.
“Hey, are you ready for this?” he asks, knowing what I’m walking into.
“I don’t know,” I admit, hesitation in my voice. “I don’t want to see him. This feels like one last chance for him to take a swipe at me.”
“You’ve got this,” he says, steadier than I feel. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Heather will be with you, and you know she won’t let him pull anything. I wish I were there.”
“I wish you were here, too.” I’m grateful he’s just a phone call away.
He’s quickly become the most important person in my life, and that scares me. He lives on the opposite side of the country, and I don’t know if we can bridge the gap between us. His world is so different from mine.
“Call me when you’re done, okay?”
“I will. Talk soon.” I hang up with his voice still warm in my ear and take a deep breath.
Then I head inside to meet Heather.
The mediator’s office is on the third floor of a downtown building.
The receptionist escorts us to a small conference room, where Ray and his attorney are already seated at the table across from the door.
Ray fixes his gaze on me, his eyes sharp and angry, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me. I ignore him and take a seat.
Heather told me she’ll take the lead and only speak if she asks me to. I’m perfectly okay with that.
Samuel Han, the mediator, sits at the head of the table and starts the meeting.
“Everyone, thank you for coming. Did you all have time to review the draft agreement?”
Ray’s attorney pulls out a marked-up copy of the document from his folder. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.
“We did, and my client is not willing to agree to certain stipulations,” his attorney says.
“Such as?” Samuel asks.
The lawyer pauses before clearly stating Ray’s demands. “My client is claiming an equal split of the home they share, any bank accounts, joint or otherwise, and all belongings.”
Heather doesn’t blink. “Absolutely not,” she says, clipped and professional. “The domestic partnership agreement, entered into three years ago, explicitly protects my client’s assets.”
Ray explodes. “That’s bullshit! I didn’t agree to that. It’s unfair!” He points at Heather. “You made me sign the damn thing and didn’t explain it. He cheated on me! I deserve—“
“Mr. Murphy,” Heather cuts him off, her voice cold.
“You were given the agreement before signing, and you had every opportunity at the time to ask questions, but you signed it. That agreement was created so you could be added to my client’s health insurance through his employer, not for him to surrender his rights to his property. ”
I remember the day I asked Heather to write it. Since Ray worked as a bartender and didn’t have insurance, we agreed to add him to my policy. We needed the DPA to do that. Heather took it upon herself to protect me and drafted it with language similar to a prenup. I’m glad I listened to her.
Heather’s tone turns harder. “As for the cheating allegations, they are irrelevant. What is relevant is the brutal assault on my client and the subsequent plea agreement, if you recall.”
That shuts him up, and his attorney gives him a look that says, I told you so. Heather flicks her eyes at me, checking to see if I’m okay. I nod for her to continue.
She then presents my offer. “However, my client is willing to split their joint accounts equally and will give Mr. Murphy ten percent of the net proceeds from the sale of the home, contingent on the property being vacated within seven days. If your client has caused any damage to the home, the repair costs will be deducted from that amount.”
It was my idea to make the offer. I knew I had to give him something to get him to agree to move out. His pride won’t let him walk away empty-handed. Heather fought me on it, and I know it’s another compromise, but I’m willing to live with it if it means a clean break.
“You’re selling the house?” Ray asks me directly for the first time.
Heather squeezes my shoulder to keep me quiet and answers, “Yes, the house will be listed for sale once it is vacated.”
Ray looks both surprised and pissed, but says nothing else.
Samuel asks Ray’s attorney, “Are those acceptable terms?”
Ray and his lawyer whisper, and after a few minutes of back and forth, Ray grudgingly agrees.
Samuel moves on. “Next, the social media and OnlyFans accounts. Is it agreeable to remove Mr. Taylor’s name and all images and videos in which he is included, from joint accounts, and to release a mutually agreed-upon statement acknowledging the end of the relationship?”
I tried to delete the posts myself, but Ray changed the passwords and locked me out.
He’s been recycling content, reposting old videos, and worse, redirecting any earnings away from our joint account.
I set up a ghost account on OnlyFans to monitor him, but whatever money he’s making now is going into an account I can’t access.
“No way,” Ray snaps. “That is my income. Taking it down would ruin me. And if we’re putting out a statement, I’m telling everyone he cheated.”
Heather straightens, ready for a fight. “Mr. Murphy, let me be direct. You were the one who pushed for opening the relationship. Witness testimony can confirm that you encouraged and facilitated those encounters.”
She’s bluffing about the witness testimony, though I highly doubt it would take much convincing to get Mac and Leon—or any of the guys from Florida—to give a statement. Aiden would make sure of it.
Samuel interjects, his hands flat on the table. “The purpose of this meeting is not to assign blame or to weaponize reputations. I suggest a neutral statement of a mutual parting of ways. Can we all agree to that?”
The question hangs in the room like a lead weight. Ray swallows, his eyes darting between us. Heather watches him like a hawk, ready to strike again if he pushes back.
“Fine,” he spits out.
We go a few more rounds, where I give up even more ground, agreeing to let him keep whatever money he’s been making on socials, because I want him out of my life. He finally signs off. The paperwork says our relationship is finally over. No more bargaining, and I never have to see him again.
When I step out of the oppressive office building, I take a deep breath of fresh air and feel the weight of what I’ve been carrying fall away from my shoulders. I’m free.
I haven’t been in my house since we packed up my belongings when Aiden was here. Ray finally moved out, so I came this morning to make a list of repairs and to pack the rest before it goes on the market. Heather didn’t want me to come alone, but I’m determined to do this myself.
But, walking through the door, the sight in front of me hits me like a punch to the gut: holes hammered through the walls in the hall, the word “Whore” scrawled in red across the dining room, and deep slashes gouged into my favorite chair.
I call Heather.
“Hey, how are things at the house?” she asks, picking up after the second ring.
“Not great,” I say as I walk through the rooms, feeling like I’m in a dream. “There’s a lot of damage we need to deal with.” I try to keep my voice steady, but everything inside me is screaming. I shouldn’t be surprised; it’s the kind of meltdown I expected from Ray, but it’s the last thing I need.
“What do you mean, damage? What did he do?” Heather snaps. I can hear her blood pressure spiking.
As I tell her what I found, I walk down the hall and find more destruction as I move through the bedrooms.
“What the actual fuck?” she seethes. “I’m calling his attorney right now. This is exactly why I put that clause in the settlement: any damage he caused means he loses the money from the sale of the house. He won’t see a fucking dime. Document everything.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to stay strong, but my stomach drops with every new discovery. “I’ll take pictures and send them to you.”
“Good. I’ll handle it with his lawyer. You focus on packing what you can. I’ll be by later.” Her voice is all teeth; I can tell she’s already three steps into retaliation.
I do as she asks, taking detailed photos and noting the damage.
Then I start packing the things I want to keep.
The repair list just tripled, and the timeline to list the house evaporates, adding another layer to the mess I’ll be dragging up in therapy.
At least Heather is on it, and I’m not dealing with this alone.
After an hour, I take a break, text Aiden some photos, and then wait.
Aiden: Is that your house? What the hell?
Jay: He couldn’t leave without getting the last word, I guess.
My phone rings a second later.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe he did that,” Aiden says as soon as I pick up. “God, I’m so sorry. I know that’s the last thing you need to deal with. Are you sure you won’t let me track him down?”
I flop down on the couch and rub my face. “No, I’ll handle it,” I sigh, totally drained. “Every time I think I’m free of him, he does something else.”
“I can be out there tomorrow. Just say the word.”
“No, I can’t ask you to do that,” I say, my voice strained.
I want him here, though. For him to wrap me in his arms and promise me it’ll never happen again, to hold me and never let go.
But his life and plans for the future are in New York, and even though he mercifully keeps me in the dark, as far as I know, he continues to create content for his OnlyFans, which means he’s regularly having sex with handsome men who put me to shame.
“What do you need?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know,” I respond. I can’t tell him the truth. The truth scares me, and it’s much too soon, anyway.
“I’m here,” he says, his voice breaking. “Day or night, no matter what.”
“Thank you. I’d better get back to packing.”
“We’ll talk again soon.”
He hangs up, leaving me to stare at the selfie of us at the Astoria Column, grinning from ear to ear. My fingertip traces his smile until a tear slips out and lands on the screen, blurring the photo.
“I miss you,” I whisper, an ache in my chest that I can’t shake. I get up from the couch and steel myself. I need to figure out how to stand on my own two feet.