I consider lying, saying I’m fine, but what’s the point of pretenses now? “I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard,” I admit. “It’s silly. I’ve known this was coming for months.”
“It’s not silly.” His voice is gentle, lacking the hard edge I grew accustomed to in our years together.
An older couple passes us in the hallway, giving us curious glances. We must make a strange picture, standing together awkwardly in a courthouse hallway, not quite looking at each other.
“Are you okay to drive?” Roman asks, gesturing vaguely toward the exit. “I could give you a ride if you need it.”
“I’m fine to drive,” I say. “Thank you, though.”
He nods, and we fall into another silence, heavier than the first. There’s so much unsaid between us, so many words that might have made a difference once but now seem pointless to speak aloud.
“The house sold for more than we expected,” I say finally, grasping for neutral ground. “Are you sure you want me to have everything from the sale? It seems—” I hesitate, searching for the right word. “It seems like you should get something too.”
Roman’s mouth quirks up at one corner, not quite a smile. “I’m sure, Kayla. I want you to have everything you need to start your new life.”
“But what about you? Don’t you need—”
“I have enough,” he interrupts gently.
I study his face, looking for signs of the anger or resentment I’d expected. But all I see is a quiet resignation, an acceptance of what we’ve become to each other; strangers who once knew each other intimately.
“How’s the new job going?” he asks.
“Good. It’s good.” I nod, grateful for the shift to safer territory. “I like working for Cassie, and her business is growing fast. She has me working on some really wonderful projects.”
“Cassie’s lucky to have you. You’ve always been talented.” The pride in his voice makes my chest ache. “And Billings? You like it there?”
“It’s a change after living in such a small town. But yes, I like it.” I shift my weight, suddenly aware we’re having the most normal conversation we’ve had in months. “How are things with you?”
A shadow crosses his face. “Taking it day by day.”
I want to ask if he misses it — the brotherhood, the sense of belonging — but I’m afraid of the answer. Afraid that despite everything, he regrets leaving the Devil’s Rejects for me, especially now that we’re not even together.
We stand there for another moment, neither of us quite ready to walk away, but with nothing left to say. Roman is close enough that I can smell his familiar scent: leather and sandalwood and something uniquely him. Close enough that if I took two steps forward, I could rest my head against his chest one last time.
The urge to feel his arms around me, to be held by him just once more before we truly part ways, is almost overwhelming.My body actually sways slightly toward him before I catch myself. Asking for that last embrace feels dangerous, like striking a match near spilled gasoline. Some doors are better left closed.
“I should go,” I say, tightening my grip on my purse. “I have a long drive ahead of me.”
Roman nods, his blue eyes searching my face as if memorizing it. “Take care of yourself, Kayla.”
“You too, Roman.” I force myself to turn away, to put one foot in front of the other, to walk toward the elevator and not look back.
“Be happy, Sunshine,” he says softly as I leave, the words floating after me like autumn leaves.
In my car, I sit with my hands on the wheel, fighting the urge to break down again. It would be so easy to surrender to the grief, to let the tears come until I’m empty. But I’ve done enough crying over the past months to fill an ocean.
Instead, I turn the key in the ignition, put the car in drive, and point it toward the highway that will take me back to Billings. Back to my apartment with its still-unpacked boxes. Back to my job with its challenges and opportunities. Back to the future I’m building, brick by careful brick.
As I merge onto the interstate, I allow myself one glance in the rearview mirror, not at the courthouse, but at the mountains in the distance, solid and unchanging. Then, I fix my eyes on the road ahead and press the accelerator, moving forward, always forward.
23
Chapter 23
Roman
“Another night of stalking your ex-wife?”