Page 90 of Tainted Tempos

“I hurt you back,” she rationalizes.

I smile softly, waiting for her to hear the absurdity of our exchange. “I don’t want a marriage where we keep doing that to each other.”

Mckenna swipes her tongue over her bottom lip, the movement nervous. “Please, Mav, don’t do this to me. To us.”

“You deserve more, better, than me.”

She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. “But I want you. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. That’s why I have to do this.” I flip open the envelope. “I have to let you go so we can both be whole. Healed.”

She stares at the crisp white papers. My fingers skirt the edge of it, keeping the envelope flap open.

My heartbeat roars in my ears, my pulse beating rapidly in my neck. Pain coils low in my gut, lashing against the walls of my stomach.

The black ink is bold and stark against the top page.

Petition for divorce.

Dissolution of marriage.

Divorce agreement.

Mckenna’s eyes fly to mine, and I read the hurt in them. She bends slightly at the waist, as if the wind has been knocked out of her. Her elbows hit the top of the island and she looks down at the papers in horror.

Christ, thishurts. I rub at my chest, right above my heart.

“You want a divorce?” Her tone is hushed. Disbelieving.

“Yes,” I manage to say. “There’s an extra million in the settlement since I’m ending this before the six months.”

I stare at her, waiting until she meets my eyes.

She looks gutted. Stricken. But then, that confidence flares to life and resignation washes over her expression. Her navy eyes harden, and she lifts her chin, daring me. Challenging me.

Fight for me, she begs silently.

I am, I reply through my eyes, nudging the papers closer.

“I don’t care about the money. You’re doing that for yourself,” she accuses.

“I know.” She’s right.

“This is really what you want? This is what you ask of me?” she whispers.

“Yes.”

She fumbles for a pen. Uncaps it.

I pull in a sharp inhale, and it pierces my chest as painfully as a knife.

My stomach twists, and my legs fall slack. I slam my feet into the floor to ground myself as my body becomes weightless.

I watch as Mckenna presses the tip of the pen hard against the paper, scrawling her name in bold, angry lines. “I’ll always love you, Maverick,” she says as she finishes her signature.

I love you enough to let you go. To free yourself from me.

I don’t voice the thoughts. What’s the point?

Dropping the pen, Mckenna stuffs the pages back in the envelope and slides it across the island. “I’ll never stop.”

“Me neither,” I rasp out. “Thank you, Mckenna, for all the gifts you’ve given me.”

Tears stream down her face and she bites her fist on a silent sob.

I can’t bear to be in this house a moment longer. Standing on shaky legs, I walk out of the kitchen, out of the brownstone. I walk right out of Mckenna Byrne’s life.

And I don’t look back.