“I’m never giving up on you,” he says, his voice rough but determined. “Never.”
Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. My knees buckle. I collapse onto Morgan’s couch, the tears I’ve been holding back finally breaking free. They come in great, heaving sobs that rack my entire body. I curl into myself, arms wrapped around my middle as if trying to hold myself together even as I fall apart.
Through the window, I hear the roar of his motorcycle starting, then fading as he drives away. Away from me, away from the life we built together that turned out to be built on a foundation of half-truths and omissions.
As the tears finally slow, I wonder if I’ve made the right choice. If the strength I’ve found is real or just another form of self-protection. But then I remember being alone on the side of the road in the dark, the casual way Roman dismissed me for our entire marriage, and I know.
There’s no going back. Only forward, into whatever comes next.
20
Chapter 20
Kayla
I’ve been separated from Roman for just one month, but it feels more like one year. Every day I discover some new, tangled thread connecting my life to his that needs to be severed. Our shared bank account. The cell phone plan. Streaming services. Shared passwords. Health insurance. Small things that I never thought much of until suddenly I had to.
I still haven’t gone back to our house. I know I’ll need to eventually. Soon the house will need to be cleared out and put on the market. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to deal with it yet.
My new job isn’t ideal, but I earn enough that I’m able to pay Morgan rent and buy my own groceries. And it keeps me busy, which means less time spent in my own head, brooding over Roman and his betrayal.
“Two vanilla lattes for Chloe,” I call out, placing the drinks on the counter with the smile I’ve perfected over the last two weeks. The smile that says I’m fine, everything’s fine, my life isn’t in complete freefall.
I’ve started making the next drink when the delivery guy walks in, holding a cheerful bouquet of sunflowers and daisies. My smile drops instantly. Not again.
“Kayla Sullivan?” he asks, though he knows it’s me. It’s always me. Same guy, different flowers, three times a week since I started working here.
“That’s me,” I tell him, accepting the flowers from him. Taking them to the small backroom, I leave them there. When I leave tonight, I’ll throw them in the dumpster on my way out. Just like I have with every other bouquet he’s sent.
My coworker Amber raises her eyebrows at me. “Seriously, if my ex sent me flowers like that, I’d take him back in a heartbeat.”
“You don’t know my ex,” I mutter, turning to go back out to the line of waiting customers.
The notes are always the same. He misses me. He loves me. He’s thinking about me. I’m the only one he wants. He’s sorry. He’s sorry. He’s sorry.
It’s seems like Kit was correct. Roman has finally realized what he had.
Too. Damn. Late.
Some days the anger burns so hot I can barely function. I break things—a pencil that I’m suddenly gripping too hard, a plate that gets put down with a little too much force. Morgan doesn’t say anything when she finds me sweeping up the shards. She gets it.
On other days, the grief is so overwhelming I can barely get out of bed. On those days, I curl up under the blankets, letting the tears come until my body feels hollowed out, scraped raw from the inside.
But most days, I just feel… nothing. A numbness that wraps around me like a fog, insulating me from both the rage and the sorrow. I go through the motions. I serve coffee; I smile at customers; I nod at the right moments when Morgan talks, but I’m not really there. Not really present.
And then the harassment from Roman’s MC started.
It’s a Tuesday, just past the morning rush, when the door chimes and three women enter. I recognize them instantly: Trinity, Mack’s old lady; Sara, who belongs to Diesel; and another whose name I never learned. They’re all wearing their cuts proclaiming them property of the Devil’s Rejects. And they all wear identical unpleasant smirks.
“Well, look who it is,” Trinity drawls in a tone that makes my skin crawl. “Haven’t seen you around for a while, Kylie.”
Amber throws me a questioning glance, but I keep my face carefully neutral. “It’s Kayla. And what can I get for you today?” I ask, my professional voice giving nothing away.
They order complicated drinks and then hover near the counter, watching me work with predatory intensity. When I finally call their order, Sara takes a sip and makes a face.
“This is not hot enough,” she says, though steam is still rising from the cup.
“And this has too much syrup,” Trinity adds, shoving her cup toward me.