Out of the Ashes (The Game 5)

I loved him, I missed him, everything hurt, and I was so damn angry.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d acted rationally. These days, I was just a lump of emotions. And I was so aware of it too. In the heat of the moment, I’d say and do anything, and then right after… What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I say that? I felt the anger spike just thinking about our fights.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Oh shit. I pocketed my phone and immediately thought, good thing Franklin was here. Because I’d been too close to getting furious. It happened when I tried to analyze our behaviors and the way we argued. One thing in particular—when we fought and someone mentioned that the other had done something wrong, to which the other said, “Tell me when I did that.” Who the fuck could come up with a list of situations when…

“Fuck,” I sighed. “Sit down and stop my brain-spin. I’m losing it.”

“What is your brain spinning about today?” He sat down across from me with a cup of coffee.

“Nit-picking and nasty fighting techniques,” I replied. “Like, Kingsley used to leave the room when our fights got too heated. Then now, during our breakup, I would say I always hated it when he walked out on me, and he’d demand I tell him when the fuck he did that. As if I can list specific fights where he walked out when I’m in the middle of a rage fit. So when I couldn’t think of any dates, the argument became moot.” I rubbed my forehead, then gestured dismissively. “I’ve done the same thing to him. I just don’t know why we do it. Why we get so fucking defensive.”

Franklin offered a look of sympathy, and I knew he couldn’t really relate. He’d told me numerous times he and his wife never argued. Problems belonged under the rug for some people.

I didn’t mind the fighting. Lee and I had fought sometimes back when things had been good too. The difference then had been less hostility directed at the other. These last six months, we’d become so bitter.

“I take it your munch thing today didn’t brighten your mood,” Franklin deduced. He stirred way too much sugar and creamer into his beverage. “Was, uh, was Kingsley there?”

“Yeah, but he left before the food was served.” Probably because of me. “I deserve an Oscar for how I acted. Like I didn’t have a care in the world.”

Franklin frowned. “Why did you do that?”

“Because he ruined my fucking day,” I answered irritably. Jesus Christ, calm down. I blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. He just…” That motherfucker. “I woke up to discover he’d transferred money into my account. Six thousand dollars—half of what we’d saved up together.”

“Ah. I see.” No, he didn’t. He couldn’t look more puzzled. “Was he…not supposed to do that? Did he transfer the wrong amount?”

I knitted my brows together. “No…? But the way he did it—just, here, have your money, we’re done, I’m moving on.”

Was I not explaining this right?

Franklin still looked confused. He cleared his throat and unbuttoned his suit jacket. “Perhaps I’m missing something, Tate. Weren’t you already over? And did he, at any point, contact you to say that the money transfer was an indication of his moving on? How many ways are there to transfer money from one account to another? How can it be done more…kindly?”

I folded my arms over my chest and chewed on the inside of my cheek. My internal defenses slammed up, and I got annoyed. With Franklin this time. But I didn’t have an answer.

Well…maybe he could’ve texted? A quick hey and, just so you know, I’m transferring you half of the money we saved up.

But would I do that to someone I thought had cheated on me?

Fuck.

I groaned and scrubbed my hands over my face. “I miss rational thinking.”

Franklin hummed. “I find it unfortunate that you’re turning each other into your mortal enemy. If you interpret everything he does as a declaration of war or anything remotely hostile, you’ll never reunite.”

He was right, but— “We’re never getting back together, Franklin.” Regardless of how much that killed me.

“And why is that exactly?” he pressed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was frustrated with me. “You’ve been vague about this dynamic of yours. You told me your…kinks didn’t line up.”

The reason I’d been vague sat right in front of me. Franklin couldn’t say kink or BDSM without blushing.

It was endearing.

“That’s the gist of it.” I shrugged. “We met at a bar meetup for kinksters, so we kinda got that out of the way on the first night when we started getting to know each other. Then a one-night stand led to an arrangement where we agreed to be open since our kinks clashed in places. And that openness trailed along with us when we got more serious.”