Page 5 of Maybe, Probably (Love Me, Maybe #1)

Chapter Four

Harper

T he rest of the week flies by, and there hasn’t been much time to spiral over recent events.

Evie may have thought I was crazy when we walked into the animal shelter but .

I fell in love with the most adorable American Bulldog named Winston.

I’ve quickly started to call him Winnie.

Having him here has made it a bit easier with Dalton being gone.

Winnie quickly took over Dalton’s side of the bed, firmly cementing himself as my leading man.

I wasn’t planning on having it happen, until a particularly hard night came.

I was sobbing in bed because I thought watching the movie UP!

was a fantastic idea. News flash, it was not.

Having the couple walk through life, growing old together, just for her to fucking die?

At the beginning of the movie!? Who does that!

Winnie had jumped on the bed sensing the mood shift, quickly circling the bed before laying back down resting his head on my leg.

The dog bed I purchased is useless. He’s my partner in crime, and we’ve quickly fallen into a comfortable routine.

We get up in the morning, have breakfast, and go for a nice walk to start off our day.

Winnie hangs out in my office, napping while I work.

We spend my lunch break walking some more, and I eat lunch while working when we return.

After supper, I sit outside at the fire while playing fetch with Winnie, letting him get his final zoomies out before we crawl into bed.

It’s Friday night, and I’m in the backyard, barbecuing supper.

I love the taste of seasoned chicken breast with asparagus on the grill.

My mouth waters at the thought of dinner.

A nudge at my side brings my attention to Winnie, who gives his best puppy dog eyes trying to get a taste.

Dalton is supposed to be over shortly to collect the rest of his things.

I decide to do some reading while I wait, making my way into the living room to grab my tablet.

I don’t remember the last time I touched it as I’ve been reading manuscripts for the last week trying to meet my deadlines.

I don’t see it, so I head to the bedroom.

I look through my nightstand, but it’s not there.

Hmm, when was the last time I had it? It takes me a couple minutes, but then I remember that Dalton was using it the day we had supper with his parents.

I spin in the room. I know he had it before running into the bedroom to grab his phone.

I spot it hanging above the mahogany shelf that I requested Dalton hang to help with cord management.

When I reach the tablet and unplug it, I notice a message notification on the main lock screen.

Which is weird because I don’t remember connecting my phone to the tablet.

Not thinking anything of it, I unlock the screen, and it opens up to what was last on the tablet.

I see messages that are connected to a phone, and it doesn’t take me long at all to realize that these are from Dalton’s phone; all from some girl named Chloe.

A memory unlocks of a coworker named Chloe that Dalton told me about.

I even met her a few times, too. She was this petite brunette, working reception at his office.

She kind of gave off this stuck up, entitled vibe whenever I came in to have lunch with Dalton.

The fake smile always rubbed me the wrong way, and the way she shamelessly flirted with him in front of me had always irked me, but I’d never seen it reciprocated.

She was never outright rude, but I saw the looks she’d give me.

I was used to them. After all, I usually get that response when people see me with Dalton. He is your typical good looking guy, while I am the big girl.

He never let anyone question it though. Dalton was always into PDA, and he had to be touching me in some way.

A hand on my lower back, or quick kisses on my neck or cheek.

At least, that's how it used to be. Our lunch dates slowly became few and farther between, and I eventually just stopped going. If it wasn’t me being busy with work, he was canceling, stating something important came up .

I don’t mean to start reading the conversation that’s loaded up on the screen, but it’s hard not to.

I must be hallucinating because these messages aren’t friendly coworker messages.

The further up I scroll in this text string, the louder the deafening silence becomes.

These messages are romantic … and not just romantic. They’re fucking sexual too.

What in the actual fuck!

I look at the dates. There are months upon months of messages.

Growing lightheaded, I head to the bed to sit for a minute.

Placing the tablet next to me, I close my eyes and take deep, slow breaths.

The tightness in my chest begins to loosen a smidge, and then I sit with the realization of what has been going on behind my back for fucking months.

I couldn’t stomach reading further than that.

I’m honestly a little too nervous to try and see when this all started.

Something snaps in me, because the next thing I know, I am gathering his shit up and bringing it to the front door.

It doesn’t seem good enough to just leave it at the front door.

No, I need all his things out of here . I need them out of here now . My chest tightens again as everything I read continues going through my head on repeat.

I feel like all I’ve known is a lie.

Next thing I know the front door is open, and I’m not so carefully taking all of Dalton’s stuff and chucking it out onto the front lawn.

The feeling is so fucking freeing, I huff out a laugh as I grab the next handful of things and follow suit.

I’m in some sort of trance as I continue to throw out every single thing Dalton left behind in this house, decorating my front lawn with it.

Is this making a scene for all the neighbors to see? Oh absolutely.

Do I care? Fuck no.

I’m on my way back into the house to get another arm full of things when I hear a voice from the front lawn.

“What the fuck?! Harper what are you doing!?” My head whips around as I see Dalton climb out of his dark blue Nissan Altima.

He quickly scrambles to grab his things, checking them for damage.

His head snaps up and he makes eye contact with me.

I glare at him and make my way through the door, out to the front lawn. He begins to walk toward me.

“Harper…don—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before I launch my arm full of crap, sending it sailing through the air, before landing across the yard.

It’s then that I hear a satisfying crunch as whatever it was breaks.

I should feel bad, right? I am throwing his belongings on the front lawn like the crazy person you see in movies.

But in light of what I’ve just learned, I get it.

I totally fucking get how someone could be so livid, they just wanted to get rid of every single thing that belongs to the person.

It almost feels cathartic doing this. I knew something was off with the relationship, but I always debunked it to comfortability. We were both more irritable, but we always made up in the end. I thought nothing of it.

On the other end of the spectrum, I feel so unbelievably stupid.

How could I have missed something like this?

How could I have missed that this person, who I have spent so much of my life with, was fucking the receptionist at his job?

I scoff and shake my head, silently berating myself for my stupidity in not noticing sooner.

“—Harper! I’m fucking talking to you!” Dalton bites, snapping me out of my own thoughts.

I glare at him as I respond angrily. “What?” He stares at me in disbelief, throwing his hands up in the air as he begins collecting some of his things and muttering to himself while he brings them to the trunk of his car.

Tears prickle at the back of my eyes, and I look up in an effort to blink them away.

I will not cry.

Nope, I will not cry in front of him right now. I will keep it together, and the moment he finally leaves, I will go to my kitchen and make the strongest fucking drink there is. And only once I have that drink will I allow myself to cry.

He stomps back up the front lawn, throwing his hands in an exasperated movement. “Well? Are you going to tell me why the fuck you’re throwing my things on the front lawn right now?” He bends down to grab another armful of things, and then a disgruntled noise comes from Dalton’s mouth.

“My snow globes! They’re shattered!”

A snort laugh escapes before I can school my emotions. I quickly slap my hand over my mouth as he turns, shooting daggers my way. Let me tell you, if looks could kill someone…

“I’ll get a garbage bag.” I quickly turn on my heel and rush back into the house, snickering to myself.

I fucking hated those stupid snow globes.

They were the tackiest things ever, but he insisted he needed them every time we traveled somewhere.

When I heard the crack, I was hoping that it would be those things.

My little moment of triumph was interrupted when I could hear the stomping footsteps coming up behind me.

I continued to the sink and opened the cupboard underneath grabbing a garbage bag, when he started berating me again.

“Harper, what the fuck! Why is all my shit over the front lawn?!”

I stand up quickly, back tense. I turn around slowly and lean up against the counter. Looking him in the eye, I cross my arms and raise one eyebrow when I reply, “Are you really that dense, Dalton?”

He looks blankly at me and waits.

The silence is deafening before I straighten myself and finally speak. “Ask Chloe.”