Method

“If the meeting with Wes goes like I think it will, it’s going to go fast.”

“Okay.” He tenses behind me, and I know he heard my hesitation.

“Please, Mila, let me have this. I need you with me. You don’t pass on something like this. And I managed to fall in second place, so I have a lot to prove.” He moves my hair out of the way and presses a soft kiss against my neck while dread settles in my belly. “I’ll make this up to you.”

I squeeze his thigh. “I know.”

Mila

PRESENT

Lucas: You called a fucking lawyer? We have to talk, Mila. Now. Please talk to me.

Mila: I can’t trust you anymore. What am I supposed to do with that? You threw six years of marriage in the trash. Hope it was worth it.

Lucas: It wasn’t me who hurt you.

Mila: I don’t accept that. I refuse to accept that. I hate you for saying it.

Lucas: Tell me what you want me to say. Tell me what to do.

Mila: I can’t look at you. I can’t trust you. I don’t even know who I’m talking to anymore.

Lucas: It’s me. I’m here, Dame.

Mila: I’m sorry, I don’t believe you. Not anymore.

Setting my phone down, I give myself time to reason with my anger and fail. The longer I’m away from him, the more I remember, the madder I become. I’m too upset, too furious to be a reasonable adult. I’m bloodthirsty, and no good can come of that. I need space to sort through the wreckage of the past month. I called a lawyer yesterday morning out of anger, and I have no idea how Lucas got wind of it. It was just a quick phone consult and wasn’t anything I was fully considering. Hurt can cause anger to make decisions, that’s the one I made before battling a thousand other emotions. I can’t face this yet, and I deserve the space to figure it out. But when I retrieve my phone and read his text, I panic.

Lucas: Please, baby, please don’t file. I’m coming over. I’m on my way.

Mila: I won’t be here.

Scrambling to the car, I manage to make it to the end of the driveway when he pulls up in his Land Rover, the large SUV blocking my escape. I lock my doors and keep my window cracked while continually shaking my head as he approaches my window. Keeping my eyes fixed on the steering wheel, unease snakes around me while he lingers at my door. It’s fear that tightens in my chest, and he reads my posture easily.

“Mila, I would never hurt you.”

“Now who’s the liar?”

“Please talk to me.”

“Don’t do this, Lucas, I’m not ready to talk. I’m too angry.”

“Just tell me what to say.”

I turn accusing eyes in his direction. “Don’t have a script for this? How unfortunate.”

Devastation twists his features. He’s wrecked, his eyes red-rimmed and beneath lay dark circles. He looks just as tormented as I feel, his jaw covered in stubble, his clothes wrinkled, hair disheveled. Even in this state, he’s beautiful, hauntingly so. He lays his hands on the glass, and I jerk my chin. “I swear to God, Lucas, if you don’t let me out right now, I’ll be done. We will be done.” I crumble in my seat begging for a reprieve from the hurt his proximity causes, but it’s not my wedge to remove, and it’s his debris I can’t see through.

“This isn’t healthy. Can’t you see what you’re doing to me!?” Gentle eyes rove over me before they helplessly flash back up to meet mine.

“Dame,” he murmurs apologetically, studying my face, a face ravaged with the same hurt, and the added bonus of betrayal. Recognition crosses his features as he realizes the true extent of the damage he’s done. There’s no way in. Not now, not today, anyway. Taking a step back, he covers his mouth with his palm before pulling it away. “Please, please, just talk to me.”

“I can’t,” I say, “Please, just leave me alone.”

Seconds tick by and I sense his probing gaze on me as I furiously wipe at my tears. Lifting my chin, I toss a glare his way. “I hate you for what you’ve done to us,” He flinches as if I’ve just struck him. “I hate you for what you did,” I declare vehemently. “You can’t take it back. You made a fool out of me.”

His eyes water as he palms his forehead in frustration. “That’s not what it was about.”