If I Break THE COMPLETE SERIES Bundle (28 page)

I wonder why people take a chance on falling in love. If I could go back through time, would I change the things I’ve done? My mind says I would, but the decisions I made concerning Cal were never made logically.

Someone once told me that when you’re in love, your heart takes over and your brain shuts off. I never understood what that meant when I was younger, but I do now. New love makes you look past a person’s flaws, which seem magnified later on. I look at my wedding ring; even when I take it off, I still feel it there.

I open the door to the penthouse. Everything looks the same, as if I never left.

“Cal?” I call, putting my purse on the console table near the door.

I didn’t think he’d beat me here; it seems I was right. I turn around and lock the door. I head upstairs to our room, and I can tell it’s been cleaned since I left. I sit on my bed and look around, realizing that I have actually missed being in the comfort of my own home. Who knew? I yawn and lie back, my body relishing the down comforter. This feels amazing after the cramped stay on Angela’s couch.

I open my eyes and first notice that the sunlight vanished while I slept. I look at the clock on the table and see that it’s 8:14. I got here around six. Footsteps are coming down the hall, so I jump up, only to get a head rush, and I have to sit back down on the bed. The door opens, and Cal steps in. He looks at me, his face set in a hard frown.

“You’re finally up,” he says, turning on the light.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, covering my yawn as I try to fully wake up.

“About an hour,” he says, sitting in a chair across from the bed so we’re face to face. I wonder when he brought that in. It wasn’t here earlier.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” I sigh, secretly scolding myself for wanting his arms around me, for missing him, for being ready to forgive him if he just asked.

He pulls his chair closer to me and sits back down. I look at him curiously, and for the first time in forever, his eyes avoid mine. We sit in silence for what seems to be the longest seconds of my life.

“Cal?” I say softly, purposely erasing the contempt that laced my voice earlier.

His eyes are scaring me. I’ve always tried to tell from them what he was feeling, but they’re avoiding me. He’s looking in my direction, but he’s not making eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he says, his voice strong and unwavering. “And I’m not going to start now.” He sighs and drops his head down, running both hands through his hair.

My heart rate picks up. “Just say it.” My nerves are multiplying by the second.

He picks up my hand and holds it tightly in both of his. “I-I have to leave.”

My expression hardens, and I pull my hand away. “You called me back for this?” I stand, feeling my anger rise.

He pulls me back down. “Look, this is different.” His eyes widen, and his tone lifts higher.

“Everything is different with you, Cal. If you weren’t so different, maybe I wouldn’t feel so screwed up right now,” I snap, snatching my hand away from him. I can’t believe how easily he fooled me. God, I was eating out of his hands.

He frowns and walks toward the window. He looks out, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “I don’t know 
if 
I’ll be back.”

I search his tone for some hint of sarcasm, but I don’t find any.

“What?” I say, hoping I didn’t hear him right.

He doesn’t say anything. I walk in front of him.

“Would you mind repeating yourself?” I say sharply.

“I’m going to make sure that you’re taken of. I put ninety thousand in your personal account—”

“What? You don’t know if you’ll be back?” I ask him frantically, trying to get my words out. He’s leaving me money? Things are going so fast in my head that I can’t even say what I want. “Why does it sound like you’re saying that you’re leaving me?”

My heart is beating rapidly, and his eyes still won’t connect with mine. My stomach drops. He doesn’t say anything, which makes my heart speed up even more. I have to be jumping to conclusions. I mean,
no
—Cal wouldn’t leave me. We argue, we fight, we make up. This isn’t right.

“I have to,” he says.

His eyes finally fall on me, and the look in them scares me. He seems helpless, and I’m suddenly terrified. My throat is starting to burn.

“Is this about me, how I’ve been acting? Is this some kind of revenge thing?” I say, hearing my voice crack.

“This has nothing to do with you,” he says, almost in a whisper.

“Exactly, Cal! Look what you’re saying—I’m your wife. And your decision to leave has nothing to do with me?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“What are you talking about? Cal! Talk to me, please,” I say frantically. “Look at me!”

His eyes stare past me.

“What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?” I plead, feeling tears fall down my face. This isn’t the man I know; he seems broken. “Tell me what the hell is going on! Tell me what’s going on with you for once!”

“I can’t!” he yells back, and his expression hardens. “This isn’t about me.” He walks to the other side of the room.

“Then who is it about?” I don’t understand. This is not how this is supposed to happen.

He doesn’t say anything.

“You won’t tell me that either, huh?” I say quietly, unable to stop the stream of tears. I wipe them away angrily. “What am I supposed to say, Cal? What? Am I just supposed to accept you leaving? No explanations except ‘I have to.’ Not that I’ve ever gotten one from you. This won’t be any different except who knows when you’ll come back? If you come back.”

“My stock dividends from the company will still be deposited into the account…” he continues.

Oh my God, he thinks I care about money, as if that’s my main concern right now.

“I don’t care about the fucking money! I never cared about any of this—the trips, this house—I never needed this! All I wanted”—I’m screaming now—“all I ever wanted was you. Can’t you see that?” My words get caught in my throat. “Say something.” My voice comes out in a whisper. “Is there someone else?” I try to maintain what little composure I have left.

“I told you I’ve never cheated on you,” he insists, almost annoyed.

“Then why? People just don’t decide to leave out of nowhere. There has to be a reason. Tell me you’re in love with someone else, that this isn’t working, that you’re in trouble. Just tell me something,” I plead with him, begging for some type of explanation.

“There’s nothing I can tell you,” he says coldly, his eyes not even on me.

I look at him, the person I’ve loved all these years, the man I’ve loved so much that my body ached. How many nights have I cried myself to sleep, missing him? How many times has my mind told me to walk away, and I stayed?

If it’s this easy for him, he doesn’t deserve a measure of what I’m feeling right now. He doesn’t deserve to know how much I love him. I don’t even know how to respond to this. How do you respond when your husband says he’s leaving you, and he can’t tell you why?

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask him, wanting some kind of response, some kind of answer.

“Helen and Dex will take care of anything you need—”

“Helen and Dexter? They know about this?” I yell.

He looks away for the hundredth time today.

“How long have you known that you were leaving me? Have you gotten bored with me, or is this just a spur-of-the-moment thing?”

“It’s not like that,” he says, walking toward me.

I step away quickly. “Then what? Tell me what it’s like. Tell me something. Tell me why,” I say as the burning in my throat mounts. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”

My throat feels as if it’s on fire. My vision is so blurry I can’t even see him clearly. I walk over to the bed and rest my head in my hands. I’m completely drained. Every emotion inside me is spilling over, and all I can do is cry. He walks toward me, reaching out. I get up to step away, but he pulls me into him.

“Why? Why are you doing this to me?” I whimper, feeling too drained to push him away, and I don’t want to. I want to hold him and never let him go. I can feel myself completely breaking down.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stroking my hair.

But instead of finding that endearing, I feel like a helpless puppy about to be put to sleep at the pound.

“No, you aren’t,” I tell him in a daze. I’m not even in this moment. I can only see past it. And I see nothing.

“Yes, I am,” he says softly in my ear. I don’t detect a hint of sarcasm or amusement in his voice, which makes me cry even more.

I wrap my arms around him tightly and look into his eyes. “Don’t make me ask you to stay.”

I cry harder. I can’t even control what I’m saying, what I’m feeling. I feel as if everything is crashing down around me.

“I wish I could,” he replies in a whisper.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare make this seem as if it’s out of your control. If you wanted to stay, you would!”

It takes all my strength, but I remove myself from his arms. My vision is so blurred that all I see is a vague image of him. I feel his hands touch both sides of my waist, and his lips meet mine. I don’t even respond. I can’t. I want to kiss him back, wrap my arms around him, but I’m numb, too numb to react, too helpless to pull away. I can’t even register this; I won’t believe this is the last time he’ll kiss me, the last time he’ll touch me. I close my eyes, pretending this is all a bad dream and that I’ll wake up any minute. But when his lips leave mine, I know I won’t wake up. This isn’t a bad dream; I’m living this. I feel his lips move to my cheek.

“You’ll get through this,” he says. “You’ll have to.”

I wipe my eyes and look at him quickly before they blur again. “If you’re leaving, go!” I try to hold on to the last thread of dignity I have, the one thing that’s keeping me from begging him not to leave me. “Leave.” I push him. “I hate you! I hate you, you fucking bastard!”

I hit his chest furiously—I’m a hysterical, sobbing mess—and he stands there and takes it, not even trying to stop me. He looks drained too, and I hate him for it.

I hate that, even at this moment, I hope he’s okay. I hate the fact that his expression is soft, and he seems vulnerable. It’s all a trick. He’s trying to convey that he doesn’t really want to go. How could he do this to me and make me feel sorry for him? Why, in this moment, am I worried about him?

“Just go,” I whimper.

I make my way to the floor, not wanting to feel anything, not even the comfort of the bed we once shared. My whimpers are probably inaudible to him, but it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t care. I can’t believe that he cares, not now. I have to believe he doesn’t. I won’t give away my anger. It’s all I can hold on to. The alternative is worse, but I feel it winning out. It’s about to take over, and I silently pray that he leaves before it does, because I’m on the verge of it. It’s growing from the pit of my stomach—desperation.

I squeeze my fists together and bury my head underneath my arms. His footsteps approach. He nears me, and a moment later, the steps grow distant, farther and farther away with each second. Then the door closes, and I feel as if my heart has stopped. I lift my head and see that he’s gone. My imitation of a prayer has been granted, and that desperation in my stomach is now morphing into something else, something even more terrifying—complete and utter sorrow.

I close my eyes and my new prayer is for sleep. I want out of this moment, out of this life I’ve fallen into—that I’m now trapped in alone. My only temporary freedom is sleep. I squeeze my eyes shut and wish more than anything that sleep comes and comes fast. But it doesn’t, not in the following minutes or even the following hour. I feel catatonic, staring at the clock over my bed.

When I hear the door open again, my heart rate goes into overdrive, but I close my eyes, almost afraid to see him, wondering if he left something behind—if he forgot his keys or something important enough to take with him. I keep my eyes closed and try to slow down my breathing when I hear him move around me. I hope he’ll get what he needs quickly and leave me to my despair.

His footsteps near me again. I hold my breath, hoping if I hold it long enough, he’ll disappear. But when his hands move underneath me and he lifts me into his arms, I lose my breath completely. I’m afraid to breathe and only do so when he finally lays me down on the bed. He lifts my legs, removes each of my shoes, and I don’t know what to do. Do I say something? Do I kick him away? A moment later, cool sheets cover me. Then his lips rest gently on my forehead and I feel frozen, knowing he thinks I’m asleep. His footsteps grow distant again, the light clicks off, the door opens, and that welling from earlier comes up again, full force. I shoot up from my zombie-like state.