You Know I Love You (You Are Mine #3) - Willow Winters Page 0,18

keeping me company but the memories of us and the constant worry of what’ll happen when—and if—he comes home.

Staring down at my cell, I swallow thickly. He messaged me. He reached out to me. I can’t explain why it makes my bruised heart hurt even more. Maybe I wish he’d just be cruel and not try or not care. It hurts so much more to think that he’s trying. Hope is an odd little thing. I want to cling to it, but if I do, the inevitable fall will be that much more deadly.

He always messaged in the morning, though, after the late night of whatever the hell he’d been up to. I’ve always thought it was cute how he’d text me to tell me good morning, even if he was only just then getting into bed.

But it’s 2:00 a.m. in London, his prime time, and my phone’s lit up on the desk with a message from him.

I was finally getting some work done, the keys clacking and the to-do list shrinking somewhat although for every item crossed off, I feel as if I’ve added two. Focusing and managing to write up some feedback along with creating a marketing tactic for a client has been a highlight of my night … Until that message came through.

Half of me doesn’t want to answer him. Cue the grinding halt to any progress I’d made. I don’t want to read whatever he’s sent and go back into the black hole of self-pity. But I can’t resist. He is a drug and I am an addict. We could go days without speaking before, but in this moment, every second that I stare at my phone knowing there’s an unread message from him feels like an eternity in hell.

My hand inches toward it, the need to see what he has to say overriding the anger and the sadness. The need to be wanted by him and to feel loved winning out over my dignity.

So I click on the damn thing and my heart does a little pitter-patter of acknowledgment. When I swallow, it’s as if I’m shoving my heart back down where it belongs.

I hate it when you’re mad at me.

I stare at his message, feeling the vise in my chest tighten. My fingers hesitate over the keys as I read it again and again. Before I can respond, another message comes through.

Forgive me.

That’s the crux of the situation. The dams break loose.

Forgive you for what exactly? I message him back without even thinking. Whatever he’s hiding is bad, I know it is. I can feel it deep down in my core. Just like I knew that night when his mother was diagnosed. Whatever he’s done is enough to ruin us.

But we were already ruined, weren’t we? It’s been a slow burn of destruction. My intuition is hardly ever wrong. We’ve grown apart. We’re different people now. We don’t belong together. We never did, not really. Admitting that is what hurts the most.

With my body trembling, I force myself to get up and move, even if it’s just to walk through the house. I’m only wearing a baggy shirt and a pair of socks. I wore the shirt to bed last night and I should really shower and get dressed. It’s a rule I’ve had since I started working from home.

Every day, I dress as if I’m going into the office. Right now I just don’t have the energy.

Evan sends two texts, one right after the other as I walk to the kitchen.

We can work through this.

I love you.

I only glance at them before putting the phone down on the counter and heading straight to the fridge for some wine. Taking in a staggered breath, I focus on ignoring the pain. Think logically, I command myself. Don’t fall back into his arms without having a grasp on the problem. Because otherwise it will happen again. That’s what happens when you accept a behavior without acknowledgment and a plan to change.

There’s only half a glass left in the dark red bottle, but it’ll have to do.

I glance at the clock as I sip it. It’s after 9:00 p.m. I’ve barely slept, barely worked and hours passed before I realized I hadn’t brushed my teeth today. At least I’m drinking from a clean glass.

It only takes one sip before I tell him what’s on my mind. Communication is key. All the years of therapy taught me that. There is no relationship worth keeping if you don’t trust