Page 38 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

ROSE

I pace outside the apartment door for five whole minutes when I get home.

Sierra never texted me back. Granted, it’s not unusual for her to type a message out and forget to hit send, but she usually realizes when she doesn’t get a reply.

Silence isn’t Sierra’s thing, and now I have no idea what I’m walking into.

What a day.

Lisa pulled me into her office first thing, earlier than I expected.

Kayleigh’s job, she explained, was going to Imogen, but that’s only because she had a different role in mind for me.

The company is expanding, converting the fifth-floor offices into a new research lab, and Lisa put me forward for floor manager.

I feel wholly unqualified, but she gushed about my drive and organization, and her boss’s boss was impressed by my work, so I got the job.

I’ll be shadowing Lisa for the next month or so before the new research lab opens.

The first thing I did when I left her office was run to the bathroom and lock myself in to text Sierra. Then I stared at myself in the mirror, taking in the glow, the smile that didn’t exist until Sierra and I grew closer, and asked myself what the hell I’m doing letting her go without a fight.

Hence my second text. I’m going to tell her how I feel, and I’m going to hope that she doesn’t laugh in my face.

What we have is far from traditional, and I’m not asking her to stay married to me if that’s not what she wants.

I’d just like to try and see what’s here between us.

Because there’s something there, and Sierra is too observant not to have noticed it.

It all seemed a lot less scary locked in a bathroom on the other side of the city, though.

I shake out my body and inhale a deep breath of the biting December air, then slide my key into the lock.

I’m careful not to jostle the bouquet in my hand too much.

God forbid the first time I give someone real flowers, they’re all fucked up because I’m too nervous to stand still.

I got her purple roses—her favorite flower, and her favorite color—and had the florist wrap them up in brown paper and twine, because Sierra has a picture of her mom holding a bunch of flowers from her dad wrapped like that.

It’s out of character for me, but I figured I owe my wife a little romance if I’m asking her to take a chance and date me.

Sierra isn’t in the living room, so I call her name as I lock the door behind me.

There’s no answer, but I know she’s home because her slippers aren’t by the door.

She’s gotten so much better at putting her shit away that there are no shoes littering the entryway.

I’m not the only one who’s changed for the better here. She has to see that.

I stop by the bunnies on my way through the living room, but they’re too busy eating to pay attention to me. Sierra must have fed them early.

She’s not in the bathroom, and her bedroom door is closed, so I knock before calling her name again. Nothing.

“Sierra?” I try again. “Are you okay?” Worry spreads through me. What if she’s sick or hurt? “I’m coming in,” I warn, before nudging the door open and stopping in my tracks.

Sierra’s not in her room. And not much else is, either. The bed frame and mattress, the dresser, the nightstand, everything that was here when we moved in. All traces of Sierra are gone.

Except… My eyes land on the brown folder on the bed, and the flowers fall from my hand.

It’s like someone else is moving my body, pushing me toward the bed until I’m staring directly down at the folder and the neon pink sticky note on top.

Congrats on the promotion.

I’ve signed everything on my side. You just need to sign your parts and drop them off. - S

That’s it? Not even a goodbye?

I sink to the floor, legs shaking. I hug my knees to my chest, staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. How could I be so hopeful, so sure she’d seen what I’ve seen between us, just five minutes ago?

How the hell could I have been so na?ve?

I thought the opposite of my foggy spells would be pure joy.

I was wrong. Where they feel like a heavy cloud pressing on top of me, weighing me down, life after Sierra feels…

hollow. Like my internal organs are doing the bare minimum, taking up as little space as possible inside me, because what’s the point in functioning, anyway?

I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours lying in the bunny enclosure, after dragging a bunch of pillows and blankets in here.

The couch and beds remind me too much of Sierra, and I’m well aware of how pathetic that makes me.

But the bunnies are good company, and they’ve barely left my side since I clambered in.

I like listening to their feet thudding against the rug as they hop about, their happy little crunches as they chomp away at their hay and greens.

Have they noticed Sierra isn’t here? She told me that rabbits bonded so strongly they could die from broken hearts and, right now, I get it.

It’s not just that Sierra’s gone. I was prepared for that, as much as I could be, anyway. She made her plans to move out once she got her inheritance clear from day one, and I knew convincing her to give us a chance was a shot in the dark. But I don’t understand how she could just… go.

Did I mean so little to her? There was no time to ask her to stay, no answers for closure.

There’s just nothing. I wish she’d just broken my heart instead of leaving it to linger in this hollow purgatory.

I wish I’d said something when I first realized I had feelings for her. I wish, I wish, I wish .

I grab my phone and pull up her contact.

She hasn’t turned her location off yet, and I fell asleep clutching my phone, her little location dot blinking on my screen until the battery died.

She stayed at a hotel last night, clearly so desperate to get away from me that she couldn’t even wait to find an apartment.

Her location dot didn’t stray all day, but it’s on the move now.

I watch as she walks into The Weather Vane, a bar near her office. I know she, Jazz, and Cal sometimes go there for lunch, or meet Maggie and Liam there after work, but it’s Saturday.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m peeling myself out of the nest I’ve built, throwing some food at the bunnies, and dressing in a hurry. I throw my hair back in a messy ponytail before jumping in my car and speeding downtown.

I park in the Michaelson and Hicks parking garage, using the key fob Cal gave me, and a few minutes later, I’m standing outside the door to The Weather Vane. I don’t have a plan; I haven’t considered what to say; I just need to talk to her.

Saturdays are busy in Downtown Seattle, so I don’t see her when I first walk in. I hover by the bar until a bartender with bubblegum-pink hair spots me.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh. Um, I’m just looking for someone, actually.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “I know you. You’re Jazz’s sister, right?”

“I am,” I say, frowning suspiciously. “Have we met?” I’m sure I’ve never seen this woman in my life.

“Oh, no. But when Jazz gets tipsy, she tells anyone who’ll listen about everyone she loves—with pictures. It’s cute, actually. Besides, you have exactly the same eyes.”

Huh. My heart thuds a little, the first sign of life I’ve felt in a while. “I’m looking for Sierra, who she usually comes in with?”

The bartender’s eyes light up in recognition. “If you go around to the right, she’s in the booth in the back corner.”

I push away from the bar because if I wait too long, I’ll lose my nerve, but the bartender keeps talking: “She’s on a date. Total smoke show, if you ask me.”

Every sound in the bar fades to nothing. All I can hear is the rushing of my own blood as it drains from my face. “She’s on a date?”

Realization dawns on the bartender’s face. “Oh god. Shit. I didn’t… I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not… It’s okay.” It feels like someone else is talking. Like I’m outside of my body, watching as my heart shatters.

The bartender offers me a drink, and she offers to call Jazz for me when I decline, but I’m already halfway out of the door.

I collapse against the wall outside, breathing hard. She’s on a date. She left me one day ago, and she’s on a date. I can still feel the ghost of her fingers in my hair as she kissed me goodbye before work yesterday, and she’s on a fucking date.

The stone wall is freezing against my back, and I suddenly realize I didn’t bother with a jacket.

I push off the wall and start back toward the parking garage.

I don’t want to go home, to the silence, and the reminders that Sierra doesn’t live there anymore.

The bunnies are amazing, but I don’t want to spend the rest of the night scrolling through my phone with only them for company.

Sierra stormed into my life, changed me until I didn’t want to be on my own anymore, and then left.

With shaky fingers, I pull my phone from my pocket and pull up Jazz’s contact info. She answers on the second ring.

“Hey. Did you know snails have teeth?”

The greeting is so unexpected, but so perfectly Jazz, that it draws a sound from my throat that might have been a laugh in another life. “What?”

“Yeah, like legit teeth. They can fully chomp things. And they’re not as slow as people claim, you know. They make excellent pets.”

“We are not getting a pet snail, darling,” I hear Liam say in the background, and Jazz huffs.

“We’ll see. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Um.” I have no idea what to say, but I don’t have to. Jazz must hear that there’s something wrong in that one syllable.

“Rosie? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to get in the way of your night or anything, but if you’re not busy, I was wondering if I could come over, maybe?”

“You’re not getting in the way,” she says quickly. “Where are you? We’ll come pick you up.” There’s an edge to her voice I’ve never heard before, somewhere between panic and protectiveness.

“You don’t have to do that. I have my car. I’m at your office parking garage. ”

“Why are you there? What’s going on?”

Of course, Sierra wouldn’t have told her what happened. We never discussed how to handle the subject of our relationship ending with our families. I thought we’d have time to do it before it was over, but she took that time away.

“When I got home from work yesterday, Sierra had moved out. And now she’s on a date with someone else at The Weather Vane. It’s over.” My voice cracks into nothing on the last word, and I squeeze my car keys in my hand until the metal bites into my palm with a sharp pain.

“Shit. I’m so sorry. We’ve got you, okay? Just come on over. We’ve got you. You’re not on your own.” Her voice is soft, like she’s talking to a frightened animal, trying to stop it from running.

But I’m so fucking tired of running from Jazz.

From Xan, and the Michaelsons, and my colleagues, and everyone else who’s tried to get close to me without success.

Maybe if I’d been honest about my feelings for Sierra as soon as I realized them, none of this would have happened.

Or maybe it would have, but it’s been my choice to carry the weight of all my problems alone for the past twenty-six years. And I don’t have it in me anymore.