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The school year is almost over, and fuck me, I’m ready for it. Instead of working this summer, Coop and I are going to travel. He’s going to take me to the Great Lakes in search of different stones. We’re going to walk the beaches and make love under the stars.
Not that he’s told me with his words that he loves me.
I’ve said it though. A few more times in the past few weeks.
Each time they fall from my lips, I wait for reciprocation.
But it’s been radio silence. He kisses me like he loves me, holds me like it too. And when we fuck, I feel like our bodies have reached some kind of third dimension, a euphoric, heavenly thing.
Though, the last few days, he’s been more secretive, quieter.
Well, it’s been quiet when we’re alone and not fucking.
When my dick is inside of him, he’s loud, open, desperate.
But he still doesn’t say those words I need to hear. He swallows them down and keeps them inside.
My phone pings as I sit outside and watch the sky darken with clouds. It’s warmer out, now that it’s late spring, but still, it grows misty over the ocean, hiding the horizon from view.
My gaze turns toward my phone and I see that it’s Coop telling me he’s running late and won’t be home when he planned. It’s to be expected. He’s out to lunch with Patrick and Owen for their monthly meetup, but for some reason, the way he wouldn’t make eye contact with me when he left is making me jumpy.
It’s making my suspicions rise.
Something is wrong, something that he won’t tell me.
Although, maybe I’m overreacting, maybe I’m conjuring up things that don’t really exist.
I’ve been known to do that from time to time.
I rub at my eyes and stare at the mist growing around me. What I need to do is stop sitting here and moping. I need to get off my ass and walk.
I make my way down to the beach and spend some time looking for shells and rocks, my little treasures. But it’s not the same without Coop by my side, without someone to show them to, so I end up walking back to our place, my spirits sinking low.
I wave to Clifford and press the button to the elevator, only to come to an abrupt stop when I see a man waiting outside our door. He’s wearing a suit and tie, his hair combed over neatly.
He looks and smells like a lawyer.
Fuck.
Our eyes lock and he straightens, smoothing out his tie, almost nervously. “Mr. Morris?” he asks, and I nod.
He hands me a manila envelope, and I glance down at it, feeling my entire body heat with nerves. “What is this?”
“Some paperwork that Mr. Barone wanted me to deliver you.”
I stare down at it, unblinking, and nod. I can’t even utter a thank-you or a goodbye. My throat has stopped working, just a clicking, parched mess. I just make my way into the loft with a pounding heart. My skin is too tight, sticky, my head a spinning, horrid mess.
Setting the envelope on the counter, I stare at it. A part of me already knows what this is. This is why he’s been so distant for the past few days, so cagey. He knew this was coming.
With angry hands, I rip it open and stare at the bright white papers littered with black ink sitting there, glowering up at me.
My gaze swims, and I feel my world tilt.
Divorce.
He wants a divorce.
I grab on to the stack with shaking hands and thumb through it, feeling my skin heat to molten. Sadness and anger ripples through me.
