41. Garrett
GARRETT
It’s nearly two in the morning by the time I finally make my way out of my studio. The house is eerily quiet, the light over the island still on instead of dimmed like Emerson would normally leave it if she happened to go up to bed before me.
Emerson.
The fury from earlier has been replaced with a bone-deep sadness, the kind that makes my body ache with every step.
I meant every word I said, but fuck I didn’t handle that right.
I can’t imagine she’ll be waiting for me in bed, but if I’m lucky I didn’t totally fuck up the last week we have together.
Without thinking, my feet lead me into the kitchen, my throat dry and desperately in need of water after playing and singing the song that had poured out of me all night. The words had materialized onto the page, each falling perfectly.
Effortlessly.
For her.
And I didn’t fight them.
Because they’d been the words I’d locked away from the moment she told me she didn’t want one—that I was forbidden from writing her a song.
But it didn’t matter if I was losing her.
A savior, a queen, a battle cry heard.
And all that to say she set fire to my world.
Even now the music hums through my veins, the lyrics seemingly a part of me.
Because she’s a part of me.
Pulling a glass from the cabinet, I go to the tap and turn on the faucet, not waiting for the water to get cold before filling it and taking a sip. It helps, but not as much as I’d like. I’m just about to refill it when something shiny on the counter catches my eye.
A key.
Stepping closer, there’s no mistaking that it’s a house key.
My house key.
Setting the glass down, I jog to the stairs, taking them two at a time to find the entire upstairs shrouded in darkness. Flipping on the lights to the master bedroom, my stomach sinks, the scent of her perfume barely noticeable, like she hasn’t been here in a while.
I know when I head to the guest room that’ll be empty too.
And it is, the bed still pristinely made like it has been since she started sleeping in my bed months ago.
“I’ll have Roan draw up the paperwork before your trip so I can be one less thing you have to worry about.”
Fuck.
GARRETT: She left
ROAN: What?
GARRETT: Emerson—she fucking left—I fucked up and she’s gone
ROAN: I told you to figure it out not implode your whole fucking relationship
GARRETT: I know
ROAN: What are you going to do?
GARRETT: I wrote her a song
ROAN: Better be one hell of a song
GARRETT: I guess we’ll find out
GARRETT: But man—I can’t lose her
ROAN: We know. We told you.
They did tell me and I didn’t listen because I was already falling for Emerson, and now I’ve gone and jumped all the way over the edge. There’s no falling—I’m all the way in love with my wife.
I just hope she’ll still give me the chance to make it right.
EMERSON
I didn’t sleep a wink last night, a headache blooming behind my eyes before I’ve even finished my first cup of coffee. I’m exhausted, like my soul is tired.
Thankfully, Des didn’t say anything when he arrived to find two cups of coffee on my desk and dark circles under my eyes. He just added a stack of files, cleaned up my space, and promised he’d be back with breakfast.
Where is he?
“Miss Andrews?” As if on cue, Des walks into my office with a takeout container, smoothie, and another coffee.
“You’re my favorite,” I tell him, peeking into the bag and sighing with happiness when I find pastries and not something healthy.
That’s what the smoothie is for.
I know he started hiding things in there like greens, proteins, and “everything I need to have a successful day.” It’s a fun little game we play where we both pretend the other is running the show.
“Remember that when I tell you the next part.”
“I don’t have it in me today, Des. I can’t do surprises.”
“Garrett is here.”
Here.
“Like in the office?” I ask, surprised he made it past Tom and the rest of the guys on the team.
“He wants to talk to you.”
“You can show him in,” I reply, pushing the paper bag to the side of my desk knowing I’ve already lost my appetite. When Des hesitates, I give him a half smile. “It’s okay.”
I wonder if Garrett said something to Theo about what happened last night and he told Des or if it’s written all over my face. Either way, I steel myself for my soon-to-be ex-husband to walk through the door.
“I’d say good morning, but it doesn’t really feel that way,” Garrett says as he closes my office door behind him with a snick.
“Yes, well…” I let my words trail off, annoyed that he looks like he got more than a few hours of sleep.
“You’re still serious about going through with this?” He holds up a plain manila envelope in one hand and I’m stunned into silence. Roan must have worked overtime to get those done. “I mean, you must be considering you left your key on the counter.”
“It’s what we agreed,” I manage, every one of his jabs landing as he scoffs.
“Are you sure? Because yeah, it’s what we agreed to six months ago. Do you know how long six months is, Em?”
“Of course I know how long six months is,” I force out, pushing my chair back to stand. “You want me to change—to feel bad about who I am…”
“So you’re not the woman who rushes home because her husband is devastated about kicking someone out of his band? Spending every waking minute with him to make sure he’s okay and then rallying his friends for a guys’ night so he’s not alone?”
“I did what anyone would do. I’ve never said I don’t care about you, Garrett. We can still be friends but I—”
“I had this crazy fantasy that I’d walk in here and you’d tell me getting divorced would be a mistake. Because honestly, Em, I don’t know if I can just be your friend.”
“Don’t.” The command, like the crack of a whip, is powerful—like a dare.
One he’s all too willing to take as we face off, my desk the only thing separating us.
“Don’t what? Tell you I’m in love with you? That I’m not just in love with you but that I love you with everything I am?”
“Garrett,” I gasp, straightening as the words repeat over and over in my mind, the fight draining from my body.
Has any man I’ve been involved with ever said they love me?
He stares at me, waiting for a response, but when the silence remains, he slams the envelope on the table, his wedding ring noticeably absent. “I kept my promise until last night. If this marriage ends, it won’t be because of me.”
And then he’s gone, his exit gutting me more than I ever could have imagined. But I have to pull myself together.
Pick myself up.
Because whether I like it or not, I have work to do.