I can’t speak, can barely breathe through the pain. All I can do is look up at her, tears springing to my eyes that have nothing to do with the knee she just drove into my balls. It’s the ice in her voice, the cold anger in her eyes that really guts me.
“What do you want, Roman?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest.
I gesture weakly to the papers now scattered across her porch. “What… the hell… is this?” I manage to gasp out.
“What does it look like?” she replies, unmoved by my pain. “Divorce papers. I’m divorcing you.”
I shake my head, still trying to catch my breath. “No. You can’t.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me? I can’t?”
“I won’t sign them,” I say, finally able to straighten up slightly, though I remain on my knees. “I won’t let you do this.”
“I don’t need your permission,” she says, her voice flat. “The state of Montana doesn’t require both parties to agree to a divorce.”
“Kayla, please,” I say, my voice cracking on her name. “Just… can we talk? Please? Five minutes.”
“You’ve had years to talk to me, Roman,” she says. “Years to let me in. Years to treat me like an equal partner instead of some fragile little doll that you play house with when you need a break from your real life. What could you possibly say in five minutes that would change anything?”
Each of her words strikes a target she knows is vulnerable. Because she’s right. I did keep her separate. I didn’t let her in. I did treat her as if I were just playing house with her. And now I’m paying the price.
“Please,” I say again, not even ashamed of the desperation in my voice. “Just a few minutes. If you still want to go through with it after that, I… I won’t fight it.” I have to force the last part out as nausea churns in my gut.
Kayla stares at me for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then she sighs, stepping back from the doorway. “Five minutes,” she says. “That’s it.”
I drag myself to my feet, the pain between my legs still pulsing but manageable now. I bend down to collect the scattered divorce papers, tucking them back into their envelope.Then, moving slowly, I follow her into the house, feeling like I’m walking to my execution.
19
Chapter 19
Kayla
I lead Roman into Morgan’s living room, hyper-aware of his presence behind me. I can feel the desperation radiating off him, but I keep my back straight, my shoulders squared. I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest, creating another barrier between us. The divorce papers are still clutched in his hand, crumpled from his grip.
“Talk,” I say, throwing down the single word like a challenge.
Roman looks terrible. The realization brings me no satisfaction, just a hollow ache where my heart used to be. Dark circles ring his eyes, and his normally neat beard has grown wild. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, are bloodshot and pleading.
“Kayla,” he begins, my name sounding raw in his throat. “I am so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t answeryour calls. I would give anything to go back to that night and make different choices.”
His voice cracks on the word “anything,” and I see moisture gathering in his eyes. I’ve seen this man angry, aroused, amused, but never broken. Never like this. The Roman standing before me is shattered in a way I’ve never witnessed.
“Let’s try to be honest, Roman,” I reply, surprised by the acid in my voice. “I already know nothing is more important than Naomi’s safety. Isn’t that what you said? ‘Nothing is more important to me than your safety. Nothing.’ Those were your exact words to her, weren’t they?”
He recoils as if I’ve struck him physically.
“Kayla, about that morning…what I said…” he starts, and something in me snaps.
“What you said?” I repeat, my voice rising despite my determination to stay calm. “Sure Roman. We could talk about what you said. We could also talk about every other time you’ve proven that the club comes first. Every time I’ve begged to be let in and you shut me out. Every time I told you the members of your club hated me and you dismissed me.”
I step closer to him, hurt rising like bile in my throat.
“Do you want to talk about how Naomi probably knows more about your life than I do? How you gave her parts of you that you never even tried to share with me?” My hands clench into fists at my sides. “What did Atlas mean when he said that you understood better than anyone that Naomi could be depended on in a fight, Roman?”
I’m practically shouting now, pacing the small living room because staying still feels impossible. The hurt is too big to contain in a motionless body.
“This whole thing,” my voice cracks, but I force myself to continue, “has just made me look at what’s been right in front of my face the whole time. I’ve always been second to the Rejects.Always been someone you can just play house with before going back to your real life. ”