Chapter 10

Derek

 

Weather and traffic made the drive stretch out for an extra two hours, but not a moment too soon, we made it to the next hotel. Without exchanging more words than absolutely necessary, Rhys and I unloaded our handful of luggage, checked in, and got into the elevator, which crept up to the third floor.

Our boots and the wheels of our suitcases were the only sounds as we followed the hallway to our respective rooms. The rooms turn out to be next to each other this time instead of across the hall, but whatever. As long as we didn’t have to spend tonight and tomorrow morning getting in each other’s way.

We stopped beside the first door, which was his. Rhys turned his keycard over in his hand. “So, um.” He didn’t look at me. “Text me in the morning, I guess? When you’re ready to get moving?”

“Okay. Will do.”

He disappeared into his room. I continued to mine, keyed myself in, shut the door behind me, and dropped onto the bed.

And now… Now I was alone. I had the breathing room I’d desperately needed since last night. As I stared at the wall dividing his room from mine, though, it felt like too big of a barrier. Too much distance. At the same time, it didn’t seem like enough. Would the hotel let me swap rooms with the people next door? Put an entire room between me and Rhys? Hell, maybe give me a room on another floor at the other end of the building? And would that make me feel better or worse?

It didn’t matter; I was being ridiculous. Releasing a long breath, I sat on the edge of the bed. Then I lay back across the mattress, laced my fingers behind my head, and stared up at the dusty brass light fixture.

Taking a break of sorts from interacting had been a good idea, and I was glad we’d done it, but I couldn’t say I felt better. Not worse, though, so that had to be a win.

Throughout the long, silent hours on the road, my emotions had run the gamut between sad, angry, hurt, and guilty. For a while, I was just numb. Then I wished I was.

Now I was tired. Tired of being in the truck. Tired of not being home with my cats and my own bed and anything familiar besides Rhys. Tired of being a million miles away from Rhys, and that being both too far and not far enough.

Closing my eyes, I sighed. I was utterly exhausted. Rhys and I really, really needed to go our separate ways sooner than later because this? What we were doing? It didn’t matter if we were in the same bed or on opposite ends of the building—it was going to drive me insane. Something needed to give, and it needed to give soon. As for the next few days? Well, either we went back to pretending we were friendly—maybe even fucking because it was more fun than fighting—or we stopped pretending we were anything but over.

I wondered what Rhys was doing right now. What he was feeling. We’d agreed to give everything a rest today and tonight, and we’d talk it through tomorrow. But what about now? Was he okay? And did I really care?

Of course I cared. Divorcing or not, he was still the man I’d loved for most of a decade. I could be angry about things he’d done and still give a shit if he was okay. I didn’t really want to give a shit at the moment, but I did.

In the car, he’d been listening to an audiobook for the last couple of hours. I’d only caught brief snippets when I was between songs, but I’d caught the narrator’s voice and a familiar character name, and I was pretty sure the book was another installment in the suspense series we’d both been hooked on for a while. Realizing that had made my heart heavy. Ever since those books had first started coming out in audio, he’d talked about them like a kid who’d just discovered Harry Potter. He’d gotten me hooked, and before long, we were both devouring chapters during our commutes. Sometimes when he came home from work, he’d linger in the garage for a few minutes to finish a chapter, and after he came in, we’d both go on and on about the latest twists and turns and our theories about what would happen next. He’d always been so good at figuring out who the killer was, I’d teased him about reading ahead, but no—he was just that in tune to the stories.

I was tempted now to download the latest book so I could listen to it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. As much as I loved the series and had been itching for a new installment, I couldn’t bring myself to listen. Not now. Everything about those books was tied to Rhys. Yeah, I loved the plots, and the narrator, and the characters, and everything about them, but the real joy of the series was in fanboying over it with my husband.

Damn. Who knew this would be the hardest part about breaking up? Not just the hurt and betrayal, not just the upheaval of our peaceful life, but realizing that small things were gone. All those evenings spent making dinner while we rambled about the books. Hanging out on the couch watching TV or movies. Talking in bed after we’d turned off the lights but hadn’t gone to sleep yet. It was all those quiet, mundane moments that hadn’t seemed like much at the time. Turned out there was more to them than I’d thought.

The moment I’d known we were in for the long haul probably sounded silly to anyone but me. We’d been cuddled up on my couch to watch TV, and Rhys had dozed off on my shoulder. The show ended, and there was another one after that I didn’t care to watch, but I couldn’t reach the remote to change the channel or turn it off. I’d had to either wake him up to get the remote, or sit through the show until he did. The choice had been a no-brainer.

And the moments that followed had been a game changer. Something about sitting there with Rhys and whatever show it was playing in the background while I ran my fingers through his hair, I’d simply known. There was no dramatic epiphany. No skies opening up or angels singing. Just that quiet realization that I was home. That I not only didn’t want to disturb him in the name of getting the remote, I didn’t want him to move at all. Ever.

In the silence of my hotel room, I wiped my eyes and sighed. I missed feeling that way about him, and damn it, I missed having him next to me right now. Wasn’t it supposed to be simple when someone cheated? Weren’t you supposed to be angry and hate them and be done with it? I wasn’t supposed to have fond memories cascading through my mind and making me want to go next door, knock, and ask if he wanted to watch a movie together.

Fuck. I’d expected divorce to be hard. I just hadn’t realized how hard and in what ways.

I turned my head and glared at the wall dividing me from Rhys.

I hated him for what he’d done to us.

And I hated myself for wanting him here beside me.

 

***

 

Breakfast?

How could a one-word text trigger so many emotions? As I stared at Rhys’s message, I gnawed my lip and debated how to answer. Last night had been enough of an emotional roller coaster, and I’d only just started to decompress and pull myself together. Would sitting at a breakfast table with him make me feel better or worse?

Well, I was going to be cooped up in a car with him in fairly short order, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to test the water by sitting together at breakfast. At least then we could get up and walk away under the pretense of acquiring more coffee and without jumping from a moving vehicle.

Christ. This felt like a dry run for a combat mission, not stuffing our faces before a road trip.

Hoping a text couldn’t convey all the weirdness bouncing around in my head, I wrote back, I’ll meet you there in 15.

Fifteen minutes would be enough time, right? It was enough time to shower and shave, and that would wake me up even though I hadn’t slept for shit.

I groaned, rubbing my gritty eyes. The therapist I used to see had warned me that stress would make the combat PTSD worse, and she’d been right—fucking nightmares every damn night. Maybe I should start seeing her again. I was so threadbare from lack of sleep, I decided I could use all the help I could get.

For now…shower. Shave.

Then breakfast. With Rhys. Great.

After I’d gotten dressed, I gathered my phone, wallet, and keycard, and headed out. I had just closed my door when Rhys’s opened. My stomach fluttered with nerves as we made sleepy eye contact.

“Hey.” He pulled his door shut.

“Hey.”

We exchanged an uneasy look, and then he nodded toward the elevators. Without speaking, we started walking.

It only took a couple of steps for me to notice that Rhys’s gait was stiff and he was favoring his right leg. His knee must have been acting up after a few long days of driving.

I glanced at him. “You want me to drive today?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.”

“You sure? Your knee seems sore.”

Rhys shrugged. “I’ll just wear the brace for a couple of hours and take a few ibuprofen. It’ll be fine.”

I pressed my lips together. On a normal day, I’d argue with him, remind him that there was already a knee replacement sometime in his future, and that giving the joint a rest for a day was probably the best thing.

This wasn’t a normal day, though. I wasn’t the concerned husband anymore. Pushing him to take it easy had too much potential to be incendiary, so I let it go. If he was in enough pain, he’d suggest letting me drive. I hoped.

As we rode the elevator down, I stole another glance at him, trying to gauge how much pain he was in from his posture. He seemed all right when he was standing still, which usually meant he could put weight on it. Maybe it was just stiff from driving, so it was tender when he walked.

He knew his limits, I reminded myself. I had always followed his lead when it came to his pain and mobility. Sometimes, though, I worried he was pushing himself harder than he should and he’d pay for it later. As it was, his orthopedist figured he had another five, maybe ten years before his right knee had to be replaced. That was a hell of a recovery anyway, but it would be extra complicated for an amputee. One of the reasons his knee was in such bad shape was years of wear and tear because of the amputation. Things like standing on his right leg in the shower since he had to take off his prosthetic. Hopping took its toll, and even though he’d long ago let a physical therapist talk him into using a shower chair, the joint was still damaged.

A newly replaced knee on the right and a prosthetic on the left? That was going to be complicated until things had healed. We’d always assumed I’d just work from home during that period so I could help him recover.

Now part of me kind of wanted to tell him to go easy on that knee because I wouldn’t be around to help when it finally needed to be replaced.

Oh. Yeah. That wouldn’t be incendiary at all.

The elevator let us out into a thinly crowded lobby. A few people were checking out and heading into the blustery weather outside. Others were leisurely eating breakfast and either checking their phones or watching the news.

It was a typical continental breakfast—a small buffet of basic breakfast items and decent coffee. The sausage was a bit questionable, but there was plenty of ham and bacon that looked fine. With some meat and enough hashbrowns that my trainer would have given me some serious side-eye, I joined Rhys at a table that was somewhat separated from everyone else, giving us some semblance of privacy.

We ate in silence for a moment, though my appetite was mostly MIA.

Rhys idly tapped the end of his fork beside his plate. “So, I guess this is where we have another uncomfortable talk and try to figure out how to play the next few days.”

“I guess so, yeah.” I picked at the hashbrowns that had seemed so appetizing a few minutes ago. “We’re going to be rooming together when we get there.” Oh God. There’s only one bed in that room. “We might as well iron things out as best we can now.”

Rhys nodded, avoiding my eyes. “Exactly. So, um…” He hesitated, then chanced a look at me. “Any ideas?”

Damn. I’d been hoping he’d already thought of something.

“Um. Not really.” I put my fork down because I really didn’t feel like eating now. “Obviously sleeping together is off the table.”

With a quiet grunt of agreement, Rhys nodded again.

That was weirdly disappointing. I knew it was for the best, and I didn’t want us to continue sleeping together, because it would just complicate things. But somehow it was hard to accept that yet another chapter of our life together was over.

Rhys broke a piece of bacon off the strip and popped it in his mouth. “Maybe we should take today the way we did yesterday. Headphones and all that.”

“You think so?”

“I don’t know.” He sounded equal parts tired and resigned. “But I don’t know how else to make sure we’re not ready to kill each other by the time we get there. We’re going to need our game faces all weekend, and the weekend is going to be nonstop stress even without…” He gestured at both of us. “So let’s stick with how we played it yesterday, and save our energy for the weekend.”

It hurt to imagine that pretending we liked each other required that much energy. Six months ago, it wouldn’t have required a second thought.

“Okay. We’ll do that, then.” I picked up my coffee, which had cooled during the long silences between us. “I’m going to get a refill.” Without waiting for a response, I got up and headed for the buffet again. Might as well enjoy that freedom while I still had it. Once we were on the road, well…

I sighed and poured some fresh coffee.

It seemed like a couple of adults should be able to come to enough of a truce for the car ride to be bearable without blocking each other out with headphones. The first day hadn’t been so bad, after all.

Things were just too raw now. Too many emotions had come to the surface the other night, and I got the impression he couldn’t ignore them any more than I could. Digging into it and unpacking it all—I was exhausted just thinking about it.

Maybe Rhys was right, though. If we were going to get through the chaos of a wedding weekend, then maybe disappearing into our own little worlds for a while—me with my headphones, him with whatever he put on the car’s speakers—was our best bet. We’d have to pretend soon enough that we were happily married. If we were going to have the energy to put on a convincing show, then another day of quiet distance was probably what we needed.

Something told me that tomorrow, I’d be begging for that distance again.