make our way to Montreal for a game the next day. I listen to Layla’s show the next day, and even though I know she is going to rip me to shreds for the way I played, it still stings a bit. But she was right. My head was not in the game. I wish I could say it was better against Montreal, but I would be lying. Thankfully, I’m on the plane the next day while her show is on. I land, and I don’t bother texting her, opting to go straight to her house.
I park my car in her driveway seeing her car and another car I don’t recognize. When I spoke to her this morning, she sounded a bit off, but I didn’t say anything. I was going to text her when I got off the plane, but instead, I decided to surprise her here. Plus, I missed her. I get out of the car and walk up to her door, ringing the doorbell.
I turn to look around to look back at the car that is there, trying to figure out who it belongs to. The lock turns, and I look back with a smile on my face, expecting to see her. “He-” I stop speaking when I see a guy opening her door. “Oh.” He is standing there in jeans and a white button-down shirt. His blond hair is perfectly cut and to the side. I know this guy, but I can’t place him right now.
“Can I help you?” he asks, holding the door as my heart hammers in my chest. I must take too long to answer him. “Um, hello? Can I help you?”
My hand comes up, and I point at him. “Who are you?” I ask. My mind spins around and around with so many questions and thoughts. The only thing I keep asking myself is where is Layla.
“Who am I?” he asks, pointing at himself. My heart is picking up so much speed and is racing so fast I hear it in my ears as it echoes.
“Who the fuck are you?” I don’t know what I’m expecting, but I do know that I’m definitely not expecting the words that come out of his mouth, crushing me. “I’m the husband.”
Chapter 29
Layla
I wash my hands in the sink and look in the mirror. This day has gone from happy that I was going to see Miller to fucking miserable because Richard decided it would be a good time to come to town and annoy the shit out of me. I’ve been ignoring his phone calls for the past five months, and this afternoon, there he was on my stoop as soon as I got home. Acting as if we are the best of friends, which we are not.
Walking out of the bathroom, I hear the front door close, and I wonder, or actually, I hope that he took the hint to fuck off. When I walk into the family room, I see him coming back into the house. I look at him, and my insides cringe, thinking of him. “I thought you left?” I tell him, folding my arms over my chest.
“I thought we were going to dinner.” He smiles at me, and I roll my eyes. That smile that all the ladies fall for, including me back in the day.
“I believe I said fuck no,” I tell him and then look at him, confused as to why he was at the front door, and then he came back in.
“Why were you at the front door?” I ask. I hear a car door close, and then the sound of the engine starting, and it sounds as if it’s in my driveway. That can’t be. Who else would come here?
“I think your boyfriend was here,” he says. My heart sinks to my stomach, and my legs shake as I run toward the door.
Opening the door, I run to his car as he takes off. “Miller!” I yell his name as the car speeds away.
“Oh my God.” I put my hand on my stomach. “Oh my God,” I say over and over to myself. Running back into the house, I put my shoes on and grab my keys. “You need to be gone when I get back.” I run around the room, trying to find my purse.
“Now,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets, “is this any way to treat your husband?”
“Ex. Husband.” I point out. “Ex-fucking-husband.” I’m so angry that he’s here. I’m angry that