Alana
Six months earlier
LOVE IS A stupid emotion that fucks you up. Makes you weak, makes you want to question your self-esteem, your morals. Love can crush you into tiny pieces and turn you into a person you don’t want to be. Right now, I hate love. Hate it with a passion. And if you don’t protect your heart, love will chew it up and spit it out, which is happening to me right now.
I sit across from the love of my life, gripping the glass tight until my palm hurts. Charles unbuttons his cufflinks and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, resting them on the white cloth covering the table.
“I’m leaving you for her.” The tone of his voice is low, no remorse in his hazel eyes. Nothing about his facial expression says “I’m sorry.”
“What?” I heard him loud and clear, but I don’t want to accept what he is saying. I want to scream and slap the shit out of him, but I remain in my seat, fighting back the tears that are burning in the back of my eyes.
The people in this stupid bistro piss me off. A couple sucking face in the corner, a bunch of men laughing and clinking their glasses together—even the waitress is sporting a stupid smile. Meanwhile, my day is getting shit on. Closing my eyes, I inhale the aroma of sweet honey and fresh croissants.
“I’m leaving you for her.” When he says it again, tears threaten my eyes even more and my heart beats fast like a drum. “We haven’t been happy in a long time, you shut me out, and you won’t get help for your depression.” His tone is flat. I focus on his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. I’m fighting the urge to smash the glass in his face.
“So fucking your PA is the answer?”
He glances around to see if anyone heard me. I don’t give a rat’s ass if I draw attention to us. He was dumb enough to invite me here to break up. And who invites a person to a restaurant to break up with them like it’s a business meeting? Only Charles. It shouldn’t surprise me; business was always more important than family.
“How long were you with Rebecca?” My voice is hoarse.
“Ala—”
“Answer me.”
Shifting in his seat, he says, “A year.” He exhales. “She’s pregnant.” Charles laces his fingers together so tight that they turn white.
I snort a humorless laugh; the universe must not like me as it keeps screwing me over. I’ve been dealt some crappy cards in my life, but this takes the cake. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I taste blood on my tongue.
This asshole is wearing the exact silk black tie with pink hearts that I bought him for our seven-year anniversary. Son of a bitch. His charcoal hair is slicked back and shiny. His skin is beautiful—perfectly tan, like he bathes in natural sunlight. White plaid shirt and black slacks are freshly crisp. I know because I ironed his clothes this morning before he went to work.
Everything we worked for has gone down the drain. All the blood, sweat, and tears I put into this marriage was a waste of my time. Making sure he has dinner on the table, cleaning the house, giving him sex—which, by the way, sucked. Being the perfect wife he wanted, trying to fit into his perfect world. And yet he abandoned me when I needed him the most.
Fuck him, and love. Before I do something stupid, I stand up, grabbing my purse from the white tile floor. Charles grabs my hand. Without thinking, I slap him across the face. Adrenaline pumps in my blood like a firecracker. I spit in his face and say, “Go fuck yourself.”
Taking a napkin from the holder, he wipes his face, mumbling cuss words under his breath. I remove my platinum wedding band from my ring finger and toss it at his face. He yells my name and people stop eating and look our way. God, I’m trying not to break into a million pieces. As fat, hot tears trickle down my cheeks, I wipe them with the back of my hand.
Don’t cry over that piece of shit. You deserve better. You will be fine. I try to convince myself as I make a beeline for the exit.
When I step outside, it’s fucking hot, like the sun is taking a whip to my face. Sweat forms at the top of my forehead, so I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Good thing I decided to wear a pink floral dress that stops above my knees and white flip-flops, otherwise I would die of a heat stroke. Hate Newark’s weather during the summertime.
As I search my purse for my phone, I realize I left it on the table where I left Charles. I’m not going back to retrieve it, so I search the crowded sidewalk and spot a guy wearing a black, three-piece, expensive suit, leaning against the stone wall with his hands shoved in his pockets. I politely wave my hand in his face, and he stares at me like he saw a ghost—he must have noticed the color of my eyes. My right eye is cornflower blue, and my left eye is emerald. So I get a lot of weird looks.
“Can I use your phone?” Hope he doesn’t notice the emotions in my voice.
He watches me for a minute with stormy gray eyes. “Sure,” he says, handing me his iPhone. My thumbs shake as I type in Crystal’s phone number. I press the phone to my ear, and she answers on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Crystal, pick me up.”
“Alana? Where are you?” I hear music playing in the background.
Exhaling, I say, “I’m near the bowling alley on Washington Street.”
“Be there shortly.”
I press the end button, hand the phone back to the guy and tell him thanks. He nods. Charles finally comes out the building with his briefcase in his hand. His eyes land on me, and I flip him the bird. I look at the guy who let me use his phone, and he cocks his eyebrow.
“Don’t ever get married.” My voice is shaky.
Without giving the stranger a chance to respond, I stand at the edge of the curb, wrapping my arms around my waist. People walk in different directions, and horns honk from the traffic. Teenagers walk in a group, with their heads down, eyes glued to their phones.
Fifteen minutes later, Crystal’s old red Honda pulls up to the curb. I open the door and slide in, strapping the seatbelt over my body.
“What’s wrong?” she says, driving into traffic.
Everything is wrong. Everything. Resting my head on the leather seat, I glance out the window as buildings flash as a blur. I don’t even answer. Instead I hyperventilate.