Chapter Fifty-Seven
Sierra
I stand in the driveway until Griffin’s car is completely out of view. How can this happen? And why did he act like I’m the enemy?
Okay, I screwed up by not telling him about the Midnight God thing. And I probably should’ve asked my employees to watch it around the students. But is it such a terrible crime? Are his coworkers going to look down on him for it for the rest of his life?
I drag my feet inside my home. Loneliness weighs my shoulders down. As I trudge up the stairs and walk into my bedroom, the sight of his pillow on my bed is like a knife in the heart. The skin around my eyes heats with tears, and I quickly look away and go to the bathroom to wash my face. But on the vanity sit his razor and aftershave.
Letting out a shaky breath, I brace my hands against the cool edge of the vanity. The mirror shows me a reflection of his body wash in the shower stall. Everywhere I turn, something of his pops up, reminding me of him.
Maybe I should’ve been more supportive or apologetic, although I don’t know what I could’ve done when he was so angry with me. And what he said about me and Todd was hitting below the belt. I didn’t expect that, and it hurts.
After splashing my face with cold water, I dry myself off and slowly walk back to the bed. The mattress dips under my weight as I sit on the edge. Time passes, and after while I realize Todd hasn’t come by to bother me here, not since he lost that fight with the tree and Griffin moved in. If there hadn’t been that emotional opening during the trip to Tokyo—and the triplets—Griffin would’ve “broken up” with me by now and gone back to his place. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, after all.
So it’s okay that we’ve broken up, even if it’s a lot more emotional and painful than just saying thanks and goodbye. Being alone always sucks.
Something flutters in my belly, and I place a hand over it. I’m not really alone. I have three small lives. But I’ve deprived them of their father…haven’t I? I’m not sure if Griffin will want anything to do with me or the triplets now.
Feeling like an old dishrag, tired and wrung out, I slowly sink back on the bed and cover my eyes. Then I tell myself that the hot liquid making my fingers wet isn’t tears, even though my heart says I’m a terrible liar.