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She clenched her fingers to fists.
He probably didn’t mean it, but the mention of his parents reminded her that she had none. No one to call Dad or Mom to brag about to anyone. Not when her mother died four years ago, and her father was murdered when she was still a baby.
Nothing to write home about.
The anger burned like a raging fire, consuming everything in its path. The hurt stung worse, like a stack of needles on skin, and more tears blurred her vision.
How had she been so blind? How has she not seen the true nature hidden behind his fake charm?
“You’re an ungrateful asshole,” she spat.
“I’m ungrateful?”
“After everything we’ve been through together, Wilder! After every fucking sacrifice I made for you, you throw that in my face. If all you wanted was rent, why didn’t you say anything?”
“You know it’s not about the fucking money, Zee!” He was yelling now, dragging the command with his thick baritone. “None of this is about the money. We’ve been broken for a long time, and you know it. You brought this upon yourself, Zia.”
Everything came to a screeching halt. Her beating heart, her racing thoughts, and the love she thought she had once felt for the man standing right in front of her.
Slowly, Zia’s fingers uncurled from the handle on the box, and she took a step forward, brows drawn, teeth clenched, and resolve strengthened to pound the shit out of his chest if it came down to it.
“What?”
His eyes narrowed. “You heard me.”
“You’re a bastard!”
“And you?” He inched closer, seemingly matching her furiousness, and because he towered over her with more than a foot, she was forced to angle her head backward.
“What about me, Wilder? Are you saying I deserve any of this?”
“Maybe?”
Bastard!
She swallowed. She’d be damned before he saw even the tiniest drop of her tears. It felt like her heart shattered into a million pieces, like delicate glass dropped on the floor, leaving shards of pain and sadness. Every beat hurt, a reminder of what was lost. And the tears rolled out on their own accord.
“You’re saying it’s my fault you cheated?” Another drop spilled on her cheeks. “It’s my fault you chose her?”
“Well, maybe if you were around more, we wouldn’t be here. Maybe if… if you cared about the things I liked, the way I liked it… We don’t even have sex,” he stuttered more, running his fingers through his hair. “Zia, please stop with the drama. We’ve stopped being in sync for a while now, and you know it.”
When he stopped talking, silence settled between them, and all she could do was try to hold the tears back in. But the damn things kept rushing out. She wiped her nose with the back of her hands and returned her grip on the box.
Her eyes took in everything: the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the house where they’d made memories, and finally, her sight landed on one of the paintings she’d bought for him. That memory replayed itself, and she felt even more crushed. That day, he’d kissed her and told her he’d loved it.
But now, it turned out she’d contributed nothing to his life.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek, momentarily stopping the tears. “I called you an asshole, a bastard, and an ungrateful piece of shit. But…” she sniffled. “I take them all back. Now, I get to see you for who you really are, and your actions suddenly make sense, Wilder.”
“Oh, really?” She watched him fold his over his chest and take a stance, mocking her with his eyes. “Care to enlighten me?”
“Of course. You’re a child,” she said quietly, allowing it to sink in. The flicker of annoyance in his eyes was strangely satisfying, urging her to continue. “And I’m suddenly grateful I no longer have anything to do with you. Have a good life.”
Zia didn’t wait. She turned her back to him and walked away from the only place she’d ever considered a home.
***
There were moments like these when time stood still, but the rest of the world carried on. There could be voices of laughter and joy, but you’re stuck in the quicksand of heartache, unable to escape the pain.
