DALLAS
Duke said he loves me. After a night out of drinking, when he had told me he would be working.
Am I being gaslit?
I genuinely don’t trust myself to see red flags anymore since, apparently, I missed every last one when it came to my ex.
I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Duke is still asleep beside me. I look over at his handsome face.
A tear slips out of the corner of my eye. Yesterday, I was so happy.
I felt like we’d made it to this place where we could finally admit we were ready to be together, to share our feelings and commit to a relationship. Then he went out and partied, came home drunk, and told me he loves me. I don’t even think it counts, saying it for the first time while intoxicated.
I roll out of bed, my anger growing with each passing moment. I’m wearing one of his cutoff T-shirts and nothing else.
Today, I’m supposed to get the boys back from my ex. I miss them so much, it physically hurts. I check my phone to see if he texted me anything.
Nothing. I send him one.
Dallas
What time do you want to meet up today?
Our agreement states that he has to return them to me by noon, but a lot of times, he wants me to get them earlier than that. He’s allowed to drive places with them, but he’s not supposed to leave Kowata County—for now.
I watch the screen to see if he’ll reply, but I get nothing. Duke stirs, and I realize I don’t even want to talk to him right now. I start packing up my stuff to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my house,” I say calmly.
I’m sure he has a list of excuses for last night, but I’ve decided I don’t want to hear them. If he still wants to live the drinking, partying life, then that’s his choice.
But I need someone who’s past that phase. I have two kids, and I spent enough years wondering where my first husband was and being told it was none of my business. I’m not interested in dealing with his excessive drinking from a man ever again.
I’d rather be alone.
“Dallas, baby, please, let’s talk about this.”
I hate that I already want to hear him out, to let him explain.
Is this a pattern that’s going to repeat? Am I being stupid again, trusting someone who’s just playing a part until I’m stuck with him and leaving feels impossible?
I open my mouth to tell him that I don’t want to hear it, but a phone ringing interrupts us. He reaches for the drawer on the nightstand and pulls out the device.
That’s an odd place to keep his phone.
“Hello?”
I hate how sexy his grumpy morning voice is. After listening to the response, his demeanor immediately changes. He sits up and steps out of bed, a grimace crossing over his features.
“When?”
My spine tingles with awareness. Something is wrong.
“Well, fuck, you’d better stay on him.”