Me either. I should be asleep already. “And what do you want me to do about that?”
“I’m serious,” he snaps.
“Me too,” I say, narrowing my eyes on him. He stares down at me, blue eyes hard with anger. I run my hand through my hair and sigh. “I’m not sure what to say,” I say honestly as I look down at the engagement ring on my left hand. “You’re not happy—”
“I’m not,” he interrupts me. “But also, it’s just … I never get to see you.”
We always fight about this—ever since I went back to school—but I can’t be a nurse practitioner without more schooling. And I’ve never been one to change my plans for a man. So this isn’t new. Most of our relationship has been this way because we are both very busy people. So that leads me to believe there’s more than what he is telling me. “Is there someone else?”
“No!” he says without hesitation. And the single word pisses me off more than the fact he just told me he isn’t happy.
“Just come out and say it,” I growl. My gut telling me that he’s lying.
“I just did,” he says slowly as if confused by my words.
“No! Just come out and say you’re seeing someone else,” I demand.
“Raegan!” he says, voice no longer soft. His patience also growing short. “I swear, I’m not. I love you.”
I roll my eyes. For some reason, his reason for wanting to end our two-year engagement isn’t enough for me. There must be something deeper. There must be another woman. “Just not enough.”
“Babe—”
“I get it,” I say, hearing enough, and ready to go to fucking bed. “I’ll have all my stuff moved out by Sunday.” Then I lie down, yanking the covers back over my head.
The last thing I hear is the front door slamming shut as he walks out of our house.
Raegan
I sit on a box in my one-bedroom apartment eating Breyers cookies & cream ice cream right out of the carton while looking over mounds of boxes. I moved out of the house I shared with my fiancé four weeks ago, and I have yet to unpack. The only thing I took the time to put away is the display case containing the folded American flag given to me when my father passed. It sits on top of the small fireplace mantel, and a picture of me and him from Christmas morning four years ago sits beside it. They’re the only things I consider important in my life.
It didn’t take me long to box up all my shit. My clothes, shoes, and a little bit of furniture were all I owned. I don’t even have a bed. All I have is a mattress and a Walmart sack with sheets and a comforter still in the packaging sitting on the floor by my feet.
Yep. I haven’t even washed them yet. For the past four weeks, I have been sleeping on the mattress with a blanket. I haven’t had the time to do one load of laundry other than my scrubs. And those aren’t done as often as they should be. Tonight is my first Friday night off in months, and I had classes this afternoon. And now, instead of being productive, I’m just sitting here staring at it all. In a way, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. It was more awkward than anything. Steve went to hug me goodbye, and it was so stiff, I thought I was hugging a telephone pole.
He told me he wasn’t happy anymore, and not once did I try to persuade him otherwise. Should I have? Should I have tried to convince him I loved him more? That we could work?
It never occurred to me to change my work schedule to days or to take off school next semester. I didn’t even think to beg him to change his mind. I just packed up what was mine and walked away. That has to tell me something.
My phone rings from the other side of my kitchen, but I don’t move. I ignore it until it finally stops. Just like everything else in my life, apparently.
I really think I could be a hermit. Maybe I was just meant to be alone. I was alone for a very long time before I met Steve. He came along, and I think I just got comfortable with him. When I woke up for work later that evening, I started thinking about me and him. I couldn’t even remember the last time we had sex. And now that I’ve had enough time to think about it, I’m still drawing a blank. I mean, it was good. Not bend-me-over-the-kitchen-counter-and-do-me-right-there kind of good, but meet-me-in-the-bed kind of good.
My phone rings again, and this time, I get up to answer it. I dig into my purse that sits on the kitchen countertop and see it’s my best friend, Spring. “Hey, girl,” I say after I press answer.
“What are you up to?” she asks in greeting.
I spin around and place my back against the countertop and look over the small apartment and unpacked boxes. “Nothing,” I say, digging my spoon into the ice cream again before taking a big bite.
“Come out with me and Brayden tonight.”
I swallow the cold deliciousness and shake my head. “I don’t think so …”
“Come on!” she whines. “It’ll be fun. We’re going to a house party.”
“I haven’t even started unpacking,” I tell her, dipping my spoon into the carton again. “So rain check?”
She sighs heavily. “You’ve had four weeks, Raegan. Why haven’t you done it yet?”
“I—”
“Don’t you dare say you haven’t had time,” she interrupts me. “I offered to do it countless times while you were in class. Or come over and help you after work one morning. If you let me help you, we can have it done in no time.”
“I’ll get to it,” I tell her although I’m not sure when it will happen. At this point, my thought process is if I leave everything boxed up, it will make my next move easier. Whenever that will be.
“I know you don’t plan to do it tonight. So get up, get dressed, and get your ass out of that damn apartment.”
“I … I’m …” I sigh, shoving the spoon deeper into the carton and setting it on the counter. “I’m staying home, Spring,” I say, not even bothering with some lame excuse she’ll know is a lie.
After a long second, she lets out a breath. “Okay. You call me if you need anything,” she finally says.
“You too. Be safe. Love you.”
“Love you too,” she says and then the line goes dead.
I look over all the shit I have packed up, and I sigh heavily. It’s amazing that at the age of twenty-five everything I own fits in the living room of a one-bedroom apartment.
I walk over to one of the boxes and pry it open. It’s winter clothes. I fall to my ass as I pick up a white sweater. It’s one of those off-the-shoulder sweaters that requires an undershirt. It’s heavy and warm. Steve bought it for me last year for Christmas. I remember opening it while sitting in his car in the garage parking lot at the hospital. I had worked Christmas Eve and Day. Both were my nights off, but I worked for a friend who is a single mother of two little girls. I couldn’t make her miss out on waking with her children on Christmas. So I volunteered. Of course, Steve had gotten mad at me over it.
“I love it,” I say, holding it up in front of me as I sit in the passenger seat of his Prius.
He sighs heavily.
I drop it on my lap and look over at him. “What’s wrong?” I ask, placing my left hand on his thigh.
“It’s Christmas morning, and I’m giving you your present in a hospital parking lot. That’s what’s wrong,” he says with a tight jaw. His blue eyes stare out his windshield at the concrete wall in the garage parking lot as if he can’t stand to look at me.
“Hey,” I say softly, trying to ease his mood. “I only have three more hours. You should have waited to give it to me then.” That’s what I had suggested to him before I went in last night.
He slams his fist down on the steering wheel. “I shouldn’t have to,” he growls.
I remove my hand from his lap and shove the white sweater back into the box and then cover it with the lid. I reach over and open the door. “What are you doing?” he asks quickly. His voice no longer holding an edge.
“Going back to work. I’ll see you when I get home.” Then I slam my door shut. Just because I know he hates when I do that.
O
nce again, I shove the sweater back into the packed box. I’m not in the mood for this. I’m hungry for more than ice cream, and like the rest of my life, there is no food in this place. I live off pizza delivery, Chinese takeout, and ice cream. I’m amazed my ass isn’t the size of a semitruck.
I stand, grab my purse and phone, and then walk out my front door. It’s a cold and rainy night here in Dallas, and of course, I have on shorts and a t-shirt. One of my professors is like ninety years old and keeps his classroom a hundred degrees. No joke. I was sweating in there today wearing this.
I head to my Jeep instead of going back to change. I’ll just turn on my heated seats.
Twenty minutes later, I find myself sitting outside my favorite donut shop. There’s nothing like eating a donut on a Friday night at eight o’clock. Alone. Thankfully, they are open twenty-four hours, and they know me by name.
I sit behind my steering wheel as the rain comes down on my Jeep, watching as the couples run past me hand in hand, and I want to puke. One couple comes to a complete stop, and he picks his lover up before running through the puddle for her. I wonder if they know their love life has a time limit?
I take a deep breath and step out into the rain. The line in the donut shop is short. I suspected as much since no one is out for donuts at this time of night. They’re all too busy dressed up for their dates at restaurants where they can have a few glasses of wine and three-course meals. The single people are still at home getting ready for a night out on the town—thinking that clubs and bars are where they’re going to find someone they can get lucky with tonight.
I walk out of the donut shop with not three but four fresh donuts in a bag. I stuff them in my purse and zip it quickly to keep them from getting wet. As I press the unlock button on my remote, I see a man kissing a woman across the street. Right out front of a restaurant my ex used to take me to at the beginning of our relationship. I watch with longing as the loneliness sets in.
It could be years before I ever feel someone touch me like that again. Possibly never. I may be one of those old women who live alone with her fifteen cats and only eats donuts. And that sounds depressing.
He pulls away from her, and she sways on her feet. The force from his kiss buckles her knees, and I freeze. A cold chill runs up my spine as I watch him run his hands through her long, strawberry blond hair. She smiles up at him and then wraps her arms around his waist. He leans in and kisses her forehead as they continue to stand under the bright red awning. I stay grounded to my spot, watching like an idiot as the rain hits my skin like a million little needle pricks. Goose bumps have formed, and my breathing comes quicker and quicker. A tremor rocks my body from the chill that has nothing to do with the rain, but everything to do with the betrayal I see before me.
It’s Steve.
He’s the one across the street making out with the woman. My ex-fiancé. The one who just told me there was no one else four weeks ago is making out with a woman in front of me.
Pure rage courses through me. My instincts tell me she is the reason he wasn’t happy with me anymore. Why would he lie about it, though? Why would he make me think it was my fault? That I wasn’t there for him enough? How dare he make me feel like a failure when he was unhappy! We may not be perfect, but we were always honest with one another. Or so I thought.
I watch him mouth the three words that took him four months to tell me. Four months! That should have been my first clue. “Bastard!”
Chapter 3
Karter
I stand in my kitchen with my back against the counter as people fill my home. I somehow let Paul talk me into having a party. He used the fact he just got his cast removed today as an excuse when he pushed his bottom lip out and pouted like a little boy begging his daddy for a sleepover. And I caved as any father would. I knew he wanted to do something tonight, and this was safer than any club or bar he would choose. He already had a broken arm; I’d hate for him to break it again if he went out and got into another fight. And I was not in the mood to go out. So I wouldn’t have been there to save his ass.
I’m the friend who has his head on straight. I know, crazy, right? I’m like their big brother. Always there to help their asses out. Clean up their messes. So here they are. At my house drinking and watching some bullshit YouTube videos on my smart TV while I stand here thinking it’s past my bedtime. I’m so old.
“Hey man, where’s the beer?” a friend by the name of Derek asks as he shoves his head in my fridge.
“In the fridge in the garage,” I tell him.
“Cool. Thanks,” he says, shutting the door and then turning to walk out the garage door that is off the kitchen.
“You got any dip?” another friend by the name of Tommy asks as he leans over the back of my couch to look at me.
“I don’t think—”
“Johnathan is bringing the dip.” Another friend answers his question, cutting me off.
“Where the hell is he?” Tommy demands.
Another man makes a joke about how Johnathon’s wife has his balls, and he won’t even show due to her not letting him leave the house.
They all quiet as we hear my front door open. I look up to see a friend of mine by the name of Brayden walk through the living room. With a girl on his arm.
“Hey, man. What are you doing hiding out in here?” he asks, entering the kitchen. I push off the counter and extend my right hand.
“Not much,” I say honestly.
He shakes it and reaches out his free hand to introduce the blonde with him. She looks vaguely familiar … “This is my girlfriend, Spring.”
“Hello, Spring. Nice to meet you.” Guess he didn’t get the memo that it was a guys’ night. Oh well, not like I care. That was some bullshit my other friend Nate had made up so his wife would stay home with their three kids. I spoke to him about ten minutes ago, and she had already called him five times in the past hour. I overheard him telling her his phone was dying. Then after they hung up, I watched him turn it off. I have a feeling Nate may be paying for that tomorrow.
“Hey,” she says, smiling widely. “You were in the hospital a while back.”
That’s where I’ve seen her. I nod. “I was.” I point at my forehead where my stitches were.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Great,” I lie. I was actually looking forward to having a quiet evening at home alone tonight. But fate had other plans.
“How do you know him?” She turns to ask Brayden. He opens his mouth to answer, but her phone rings. She holds up her finger to pause him when she digs it out of her purse and answers it. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”
He looks at her and raises his dark brow at what I presume is her calling someone babe. But we both know women use that pet name for everyone. For all we know, it’s her mother. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she says, her mouth hanging open. “No. No. No. We just got to the party.” She nods her head a few times to herself as if the person on the other end can see her. “How long will we be here?” she asks, looking up at him.
He shrugs. “We can leave now if you need to.”
“Hang on, sweetie,” she says into the phone. Then she places her hand over the bottom of it and lowers it from her face. “Raegan is having some sort of …”
Raegan? My nurse from the hospital? I haven’t stopped thinking about her. I’ve been meaning to drop by the hospital to thank her, but every time the thought comes up, I get stuck doing something, and I can’t.
“An episode?” he guesses with a lifted brow.
She rolls her eyes at his assumption. “She just needs to get out. I was just going to have her come here.”
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
She looks at me. “Do you mind if my friend comes?” she asks, giving me a soft smile.
“Not at all,” I say without hesitation. Guys’ night be damned. This is my house, and unlike the men who fill my living room, I want to be around a beautiful woman.
“Thanks,” she
says excitedly and then places the phone back to her ear as she walks away from us. No doubt to give her my address.
“I saw that look,” Brayden says.
“And?” I ask feigning innocence.
“Raegan is hot, sure”—he shrugs—“but I wouldn’t go there.”
I frown. “Why is that? Because she is married?”
“No, that’s not it. It’s because you’re a—”
“She’s on her way.” Spring comes back, interrupting him.
He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his side. “You’ll see,” he decides to say.
“See what?” she asks, looking up at him.
“Nothing,” he answers.
***
Thirty minutes later, the beautiful brunette walks right through my front door without so much as a knock. She storms into the entryway with her head held high, wearing a pair of denim shorts, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. She has her long dark hair down and no makeup on. Her blue eyes are narrowed and her lips thin. And the sexiest part is that she’s soaked from head to toe. Water runs down her lean legs, drenching her socks and shoes. She kicks them off after closing the door and removes her socks as well. I smile at how she talks to herself, mumbling things as if she’s pissed at the rain.
All the men in the living room quiet when she walks right past them and heads to the kitchen.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Spring asks, practically running up to her and throwing her arms around her.
She can’t hug her back, considering she’s holding her purse in one hand and a bottle of Fireball in the other. Spring pulls away, and Raegan places her bottle on the countertop. “I will be,” she says with determination.
“I can’t believe he was cheating on you,” Spring says, and my eyes instantly go to her left hand. No ring! And that excites me.
“I had a feeling …” Raegan trails off, unscrewing the lid of the bottle. “The bastard couldn’t even be honest with me. What a fucking pussy,” she snaps.
I hide my smile by rubbing my lips with my fingers.
Burn Me Anthology Page 74