He'd given up, and his wife had suffered.
No way was he making Kiki suffer, too. Because she would. She'd hear what happened to Darla, and every moment would feel real to her. She'd face the existence of a child he had by another woman, and suddenly she'd end up cowering under the weight of the loss and guilt and fucked-up emotional mess that had settled on his shoulders once again. A guilt that wasn't hers to bear.
He couldn't be that selfish. He wanted her beside him, yes. But he couldn't have her. And he'd done the right thing by coming to Oklahoma alone. He was certain of it.
That painful reality propelled him off the bed and onto his feet.
Goddammit.
He'd been doing so well. Hell, they'd been doing so well. He'd finally got his shit together--finally felt as though he'd earned his right to be with her. And now . . .
Well, now it felt like he was being punished.
Without letting himself have time to think about it, he grabbed his phone off his dresser, then pressed the button to speed dial Kiki. But he disconnected the call even before the first ring.
He was being selfish. Wanting to hear her voice, even though he knew damn well that he'd hurt her by coming to Oklahoma on his own.
But, dammit, maybe he was just a selfish son-of-a-bitch, because he couldn't stand it.
The phone in his hand seemed to taunt him, and before he could talk himself out of it another time, he called her number again.
His heart pounded in his chest, every cell in his body anticipating her answer--and yet when he finally heard her soft, breathy, "This is Kiki Porter," it wasn't enough because it wasn't really her.
He'd reached her voicemail, and his entire body seemed to deflate.
"Kiki," he said, wishing it truly was her. And, more than that, wishing that she was beside him.
"Kiki," he repeated, "it's me. I--I just want to say that I love you. And I'm so goddamn sorry. But I have to do this. I have to do it alone."
He thought for a moment, wondering if there wasn't something else he needed to say. But there wasn't. Or, rather, he needed to say everything. But how the hell could he do that on a voicemail? For that matter, how could he find the words?
He clicked off without saying goodbye, unable to deal with the finality of even that simple word.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes, replaying her message in his head. Memorizing the sound of her voice, the rise and fall of inflection.
It didn't help. He still felt alone. Hollow.
But he also knew it was time.
He had to go see Darla.
He had to do the right thing.
The house sat small and gray and lonely at the end of a long driveway that cut through the middle of acres of farmland. Noah slouched in his rented Nissan at the intersection of the driveway and the county road and stared at it like something out of a horror movie.
And why not?
He was fucking terrified.
He could turn back, he knew. Tell Darla that she was on her own. Tell Kiki that he belonged to her.
Except he couldn't, not really. He didn't love Darla any more. He wasn't sure he ever really had. But they'd worked to build a life together, and between the two of them, she'd damn sure drawn the short straw.
Forget his guilt. Forget his desperate wish that he could erase the past and start all over again. In the end, none of that mattered. All that mattered was doing the right thing by Darla today. Right now. In this moment.
And that meant turning into the driveway.
The closer he got to the house, the more he could see the deterioration. The siding was coming off, and most of the exterior walls needed painting. The front, however, had been recently spruced up. Fresh flowers in pots, and the simple wooden railing painted in a cheerful blue.