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“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him as I grab a pair of leggings from one of the drawers. I’ve started leaving clothes here and I just realized I should probably take them back with me as this may be the last time I’m here.
“It does. Baby, please—” he starts and I snap my gaze to his because it’s the first time he’s ever called me that and I hate that it’s under these circumstances.
“No.” I bite my bottom lip. “It’s fine.”
“Marissa, there’s stuff you don’t know. Please just let me go home and deal with this and then I’ll explain everything.”
“What’s there to explain? You’re married,” I whisper as I begin to pull more of my clothes from the drawers. “And I knew that, so I’m not blaming you—”
“I’m serving her, Marissa.” He stands in front of me, slowly pulling the clothes out of my hands and putting them back in the drawer. I frown, because I’m trying to do the right thing by leaving and ending this, and he seems to be derailing my plan. “I’m serving her divorce papers.” He rubs a thumb over my bottom lip. “Monday.”
I narrow my eyes, confused because I was not expecting him to say that. “W-what?”
He sighs. “The papers are drawn up and she’s being served. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to wait until everything was done. My lawyers have been working nonstop for a week.”
“Mon…day?” I struggle to get the word out and when it leaves my lips, I feel like my heart has started to race.
“One hour, please.” He grabs my hands and brings them to his lips. “Don’t leave.” I nod slowly because that does change things. I don’t think he’d lie straight to my face just to keep me here, so I do believe him, but I think I’m in shock. “You’ll stay?” I nod again because I think I’ve lost the ability to speak. “If you leave, I’ll come after you.” He rubs a thumb over my bottom lip again. “I’ll always come after you.”
It takes me less than twenty minutes to get back to my house which has to be some sort of record and I’m pretty sure I got at least two camera tickets in the process, but I’m not sure what kind of headspace Marissa is in and I know the longer she sits with her thoughts the harder it will be to talk her out of it. I know I dropped a pretty large bomb on her and basically told her to trust me. I’m also not exactly sure what Holly was doing by trying to get into that specific garage but I’m fairly certain it isn’t anything pleasant. Those cars are in perfect condition and very valuable and fury spikes in my veins that she could have potentially been trying to damage them or begin the process of trying to sell them.
I pull into my driveway and am already irritated when I see her coming out of the main house still in her pajamas with a cup of coffee. I’m actually surprised she’s not already dressed for the day. It’s Saturday, which means she normally spends the day shopping and then lunch with her friends, and that usually turns into dinner and then a night out.
“You still haven’t told me why you were going in there in the first place,” I tell her as I make my way toward the other garage where there’s a loud incessant beeping. The alarm is through Beckham Securities, so I was able to cancel a dispatch but I made it so I couldn’t disarm this particular alarm virtually. Something, I’m regretting at this moment.
She puts her hands on her hips and gives me a look of annoyance. “I don’t see why my fingerprint doesn’t work just like it does for everything else.”
“Because there’s nothing in here that belongs to you,” I tell her as I press my finger to the keypad to disarm the incessant beeping.
She scrunches her nose in disgust. “So? It’s still a part of my house.”
“Answer my question. What were you doing?”
“I just…wanted to see something.”
“Bull,” I snap.
She huffs. “Fine. Marcia Bradley was bragging that her husband had just purchased some rare car. I think she said only like thirty of them were made or something. I just wanted to see which ones you had.”
At any other time, this may have had my attention, because I am curious about which car and where Bradley bought it, but as there is a zero percent chance he’d sell it to me, I certainly don’t give a fuck at the moment. “You could have asked instead of trying to break in.”
“Like you would have responded,” she says in a tone that makes it seem like she’s bothered or hurt by that fact.
I choose not to dignify that with a response either. I’m not willing to feed into that considering there have been more times than I can count when Holly hasn’t answered my calls or texts while she was out shopping or at a spa with friends.
Unless I was in a meeting, I always answered. Or at the very least sent a message that I’d call her back if it wasn’t an emergency.
I start back towards my car when I hear her speak. “You’re leaving?”
I turn back to face her, surprised and a bit confused that she even cares. “Yes?”
She sighs. “You’ve barely been home.”
“Have you?” I ask, because it’s not that unheard of for her to stay out either.
“Yes.”
“Okay, well that’s a first.”
