expect her to be in there, but being in her space is a small comfort. I turn the knob and push the door open.
It’s just as she left it. Bed made, curtains drawn, laptop closed on the desk. Tidy. If she were here, I’d carry her across the hall to my room, curl up in bed next to her, and hold her tight. I’d never let go.
Exhausted, defeated, I sink onto the bed. As I look around, I can’t help wishing the room contained more of her than the new linens she picked out when she slept here last, which feels like an eternity ago. Mr. Kibbles jumps up and settles himself beside me. I should put him in his kennel for the night, but I don’t have the heart. Not when he snuggles into the blanket and drops his chin on his paws, looking up at me with his brows knit together.
“I miss her too, Kibs,” I tell him. Then I stretch out on my back and close my eyes.
I wake the next morning to the sound of my phone vibrating, the dog curled up against my back. Scrambling for my phone, I see it’s my brother calling. I let it go to voicemail and then check to see if Brooklyn responded to any of my messages.
Nothing.
Padding to the kitchen, I fire up the espresso machine and open all the windows, letting the cool air roll over the sill as I fry up some bacon and eggs for me and Mr. Kibbles to share. It’ll probably hit the low 80s today, but this early in the day, there’s still a decent breeze. When breakfast is ready, I eat standing at the counter, appreciating the view.
As I sip my coffee, something hits me. I know where I went wrong.
I’m not sure what’s changed, but for the first time in a long time, I feel clear headed. In fact, it’s so obvious now that I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.
I’ve always put Danica Rose first. Hell, that was the impetus for our marriage to begin with. No wonder my wife can’t quite trust in forever with me.
Everything came before she did. The agency’s PR status. Contracts. Monica. Going on shoots with other models. Endless work calls and emails, even at night and on the weekends. All of it reaffirming that Brooklyn was in second place, when she should have been number one.
It’s why she never fully moved her things into my room. It’s why she’s never put any personal touches in our home. She doesn’t think of our relationship with any permanence because I haven’t given her a reason to. Saying I love you isn’t enough.
In fact, the more I consider the possibility that she’d overheard my conversation with Guy, the more I’m convinced she did. And it makes perfect sense why she’d avoid me afterward.
Going by the words that came out of my mouth during that horrible call, Brooklyn would be completely justified in thinking that the agency still matters more to me than she does. Except that’s not true anymore. At some point, she took over as the first priority in my life. But I never bothered to tell her—and she’s had no reason to think anything’s different after all the things I’ve said and done.
I sip my coffee, mulling things over. A plan starts to form.
I’m going to fix this.
It might take a little time to organize, but I know exactly what to do.
Brooklyn
Chapter 26
It’s been a week. Seven whole days without my husband or my dog, and I’m a wreck. My eyes are practically swollen shut from all the crying.
I lean my head back and squeeze a few drops of Visine into my eyes, but at this point all it does is sting and make them look even worse.
“Why isn’t this working?” I croak.
“You’re not supposed to use three bottles of that in a week, Brookie.” Mateo’s standing just behind me, meeting my gaze in the bathroom mirror. He wets a washcloth with cool water and squeezes it out before folding it and handing it to me. “Here, put this on your eyes.”
He leads me back out to the couch of his friend’s place, where we’ve been crashing for a few days, binging on Netflix and takeout while I go through this crisis. Mat’s been battling me left and right every day to make sure I get out of bed, shower, eat actual meals, step outside for some fresh air… I don’t know what I’d