Isabel’s nostrils are flaring at me now as she fights the urge to cry. “So you’re just going to leave?”
“I don’t think I can do this while we’re together. I want you two to just be happy together, and give me the time I need to figure this out.”
“Are we…separating?” she asks with a whimper.
The fear in her voice guts me. “No, Red. We’re not separating. I’m coming back.”
“Fuck that,” Drake snaps, stepping farther into the house, starting to pace as he throws a finger in my direction. “This isn’t fixing it.”
“Yes, it is, Drake.”
“No, it’s not, dammit,” he barks. “You’re running away.”
“I’m running away? Tell me the truth,” I reply, glaring at him. “Were you thinking of leaving Salacious? Were you thinking of going to another club? Another state?”
When he doesn’t answer, it’s pretty obvious. Isabel replies with a gasp. “What?”
“Emerson told me you talked to him this morning. I bet Silla offered you a job in New Orleans. I know you better than you know yourself, Drake.”
“You’re leaving?” she whispers.
He shoots her a sympathetic expression, shoulders slumped and mouth turned down. “No. I’m not leaving.”
She lets it all go and lets out one gentle gasp before the anguish takes over and she begins to cry in earnest. Walking into the kitchen, she keeps her back to me as she sobs into her hands, and it hurts so much that I hate myself for all the damage I’ve done.
I can’t touch her. If I do, I’ll crumble. Right now, she needs me to be strong. “I’m doing this so I can be better for you. Both of you. I had no idea when I asked for what I did that it would come to this, but I can’t undo it and we can’t pretend it never happened. So either I can figure myself out and come back to give you both what you deserve, or we can keep going the way we are and you two end up being the ones hurt.”
She sobs again, grabbing a tissue from the counter and pressing it into her eyes. Drake is watching her, too, from the living room, and I give him one pleading glance. Which he immediately understands because, a moment later, he’s going to her. Placing a hand on her back, he comforts her. She doesn’t move into his arms or acknowledge him. She just cries.
“How long?” Drake asks.
“A couple months. Maggie said I could stay as long as I need to.”
Isabel cries louder.
There’s nothing else I can say. I’ve already said everything I need to, but now, I need to make good on my promise to fix this. Which means I need to leave.
Rule #34: When all you’re left with is memories, memories will do.
Isabel
Long after the front door closes, I stand in the kitchen and let the devastation settle in like a drug. I really shouldn’t be surprised. I knew we couldn’t keep going like this. Hunter avoided so much for so long. We couldn’t keep going the way we were.
But I never saw this coming. I never expected him to leave us.
Drake stands behind me for a while, but then he finally pulls away to pour himself a drink.
I can’t bring myself to stand here any longer, so I drag myself up the stairs. Numbly, I remove my clothes, and I stare at his shirt, a T-shirt he must have worn this morning. With tears brimming, I pull it over my head and let his scent engulf me. Then, I crawl into my empty bed, sticking to my side as the tears continue to fall, staining my pillow.
I replay every moment that led to this one. From all the way back to ten years ago when Hunter approached me in the library. I insert myself in that memory, trying to remember exactly how I felt in that moment.
“How is it?” his dark voice whispers through the shelves. I’m leaning against the wall, already halfway through the book I pulled from the shelf an hour ago. It’s not the one I wanted to find, but it’s similar, and just as good.
“What?” I reply. His dark brown eyes are watching over the top of a row of romance novels. He looks like trouble with those dark circles and gaunt cheekbones. I tense as he continues down the aisle, coming out to stand in front of me. I’ve seen this guy. He lingers around the corner a lot with that tall cute boy, but there’s no sign of his friend now.
Every day, they say hello to me. And I keep waiting for one of them to make a move.
“How’s your book? I’ve never seen someone so invested in a book before.”
“You don’t come to the library much, do you?” I ask.