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“Elora,” Tom greets, sounding annoyed. “I just got your email.”
“Okay.” I take a seat on the edge of my bed and watch Roman as he walks toward me, his eyes scanning my face.
“I was very disappointed, especially after the call I had yesterday with a buyer who is interested in the property.” I bite my lip, my eyes still locked on Roman’s. I know the call he’s referring to is the one Roman made to him.
“I’m sorry, Tom, but unfortunately, I’ve already signed a contract with another agent,” I say as Roman quietly demands me to put the call on speakerphone.
Rubbing my lips together, I do as he asks.
“We’re family, Elora.” Tom’s voice comes through the speaker. “And we had an agreement that I could sell your property.”
The urge to take the call off speaker is difficult to ignore, especially when Roman’s eyes narrow on my cell.
“A verbal agreement, not a written one.” Kandi asked about that when I spoke with her, and I had to go back through all my emails to make sure I didn’t sign anything because that time was such a blur. “And we’re not family. Tyler and I are no longer together.” I swallow, watching Roman’s jaw clench while my heart beats wildly against my rib cage.
“You’ve been with Tyler since you two were kids. When you get home, you’ll work things out.”
How many times have I heard that same statement from other people, them telling me that Tyler and I will work things out? When I first left, a part of me wanted that to be true, but not anymore. Not that I don’t miss him from time to time, miss the confidant I had in him, his strength when I was breaking down, and the way he would make me laugh. But when I needed his support the most, he didn’t offer it to me. It was his way or the highway, so I hit the road. And I’m a firm believer that there is no point in going back. Even if I decide to go back to Wyoming, I’m not going back to him.
I don’t tell Tom any of that, though. There is no point.
“I’m sorry about getting another real estate agent, but I really think it’s for the best.”
He gets quiet, so quiet I would have wondered if he hung up if I didn’t see the seconds ticking away on the call.
“Your mama would be so disappointed in you,” he whispers, and my chest aches along with my throat as I stare at my phone. “I bet she’s rolling over in her grave right now, Elora Mazie Barlow.”
“Fuck no,” Roman clips, snatching my phone from my hand, and my eyes widen as he brings it close to his mouth. His tone sends a chill up my spine when he says, “Do not fucking call this number ever again.” Hitting the red button on the screen, he ends the call, then tosses my cell toward my bed, and it hits it with enough force that it bounces off the other side.
“Fuck him,” he bites out, glaring at my cell when it hits the floor with a thud.
“Did you just hang up on him?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Elora. Did you want a chance to tell him goodbye?” he rumbles, and I press my lips together.
I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I can only imagine what Tom is thinking, what he’s going to tell Tyler, and what Tyler will, in turn, tell my mom’s family. I shouldn’t care, but I do because Mom’s side of the family is the only family I have left. And even if things are not great between us right now, in the back of my head, I’ve always imagined we would sort things out. But with one thing adding to another, I’m starting to think that might never happen.
“Now, where the fuck are you going with your bags?”
I drag in a breath and hope to calm myself down. It won’t do either of us any good if we’re both growling and griping at each other. I can deal with the whole Tom situation another time.
“I was taking them to my car. Beth and I got done early this afternoon, so I wanted to get a head start on packing up my stuff.”
His shoulders seem to lose some of their tension at my explanation. “I’ll help you.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“If I don’t, what are the chances I’ll find you and your luggage sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs?” he asks, and my eyes narrow.
“I’m not accident-prone. I’ll be fine.”
Ignoring me, he goes to the door, swings it open, then turns and grabs both bags by the handles, lifting them with ease before he walks out. Letting my head fall back to my shoulders, I let out a sigh, then get up and follow him out the door.
When we get down to the parking lot behind the building, he turns to look at me. “Which car is yours?”
“That one.” I motion across the lot to my burnt-yellow-and-white Volkswagen van.
“Jesus, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, walking toward it.
