Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
He leans back, expression shifting. “Your mistake was running away and hiding for a goddamn year. It’s childish and dramatic, Clover.”
“You cut me off from my family and friends!”
“That’s untrue and unfair, and you know it.” He gives me a disapproving look. It makes my blood boil. “You know I couldn’t pass up that job in Rhode Island. It was too good an opportunity.”
“That’s not how it went, Gabriel. You can’t keep turning things around on me and making yourself the good guy in this. You isolated me, changed my cell phone provider without me knowing, tracked me through my phone, blocked my friends from calling me—”
“That tracking app was meant to keep you safe. There had been a rash of break-ins in the area.”
I rub the space between my eyes. “You’re always going to have an excuse for your behavior and your actions. These gifts? They’re not going to win me back. In fact, they’re going to do the opposite. You keep telling me you want to reconcile, but you have no regard for my feelings. And how am I supposed to believe anything you say when in the next breath, you’re telling me you want the cabin? You’ve only ever been there once and hated it!”
“Look at you, getting yourself all worked up, and over what? A shack in the woods. This is ridiculous. I am trying my best here. Your hysterics are unnecessary.” He inspects his nails, as if I’m boring him.
“You need to leave before I call the police.”
He gives me a look. “Oh, come on. Look at yourself, Clover. What do you think the police are going to do? You’re a train wreck. No one is going to love you the way I do. If you can’t make it work with me, who can you make it work with?”
“Get the fuck out now!” I shout, hating that I’m giving him exactly what he wants—my emotions, my tears, my frustration.
He raises his hands in supplication. “No need to shout. I’m only two feet away from you, my love.” His chair scrapes across the floor as he pushes away from the table. “I’ll come back when you’re calmer and capable of having a rational conversation.”
I follow him to the front foyer and wait until he has his things. He tries to forget his scarf, but I make sure that doesn’t happen. As soon as he leaves, I lock the door behind him. Tonight, Sophia is out with a few of the therapists from her office. I should have gone with her when she invited me, but with the last few finals coming up, I thought it would be better to stay home.
I fill a glass with water and take an Advil to offset the headache knocking on my temples. I need Gabriel to sign the divorce papers, so I can be done with this and move on.
I consider tossing the glass of wine down the drain, but it’s my favorite, and it seems like a terrible waste. Dinner already went in the garbage. The flowers will go to my neighbor across the street in the morning.
The moment I retrieve my phone from my purse and take it off silent, it pings with multiple missed messages. There’s an excited one from my mother, wanting to plan out meals for my holiday visit. But the one that catches and holds my attention is from a vaguely familiar number.
Only a few students have reached out via my cell this semester, and usually because they needed clarification on an assignment that was due before I had office hours.
I stare at the screen until it goes blank. I have a feeling it’s Maverick, especially after everything he witnessed with Gabriel this morning. I check the piece of paper with the gym information he left for me and confirm my suspicions.
I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Gabriel thought it was cute that my student clearly has a crush on me. I brushed it off, but it left me with an uneasy feeling that’s carried through the day.
I debate whether I should check the message or let it be. The final paper for the creative writing course is due in a week. After that, I have an additional week to submit final grades, but I’m aware that as soon as those exams are in my hands, I’ll be passing his and several others to my TA to be marked.
After two gulps of wine, I open the message. I can’t read the tone, but I imagine he’s either hurt or angry. Probably both. And this is my fault.
I shouldn’t have gone to the self-defense classes. I shouldn’t have said yes to the coffee. I’m the one who turned this into a complicated situation.
I don’t want to respond by text, so I hit call instead, unsure if I’m about to make this better or worse.