Page 32 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

Nicole

I walk into my house on cloud nine. The day was amazing. The drag story hour went off without a hitch, we made a ton of sales with all of the publicity, and best of all, Ian told me he wants to be with me.

I’m so relieved and giddy, I don’t notice the car parked out front or the luggage in the hall.

“Hey, there you are.”

I jump back, right into the wall, hitting my head, and Bryce reaches for me with a wince.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He rubs the back of my head, and that bubbly happiness that made me practically float in here evaporates. I am not so much set down into reality as dropped.

“You’re home.”

My husband steps away from me once I’m upright again. “Yeah. We finished a few days early.”

“You didn’t text me.”

“Didn’t think I needed to.”

“Well… I could’ve…” I glance around, looking for an escape. Not finding one, I flop my hands. “Planned.”

“Planned for what?” He huffs a laugh. “A welcome-home dinner? That would be nice.”

After a month of having no expectations put on me—other than the ones I’ve asked for—I can’t help the roll of my eyes.

He’s so accustomed to my going with the flow, doing what he wants, that of course he thinks I’ll take his suggestion and get my butt in the kitchen to make him a dinner, even though I’ve just come home from a twelve-hour workday.

He doesn’t care, though.

Never has.

He’s never once made me dinner, and he long ago stopped asking me when I’d be home. He stopped caring about me altogether.

Not that I am any better. When he spent weekends grading papers, I didn’t mind. I didn’t bother to check up on him or adjust my schedule to match his so we could spend more time together.

We’ve become strangers to each other, and now that I’ve had the opportunity to see the person he’s become, I am not interested in learning any more.

I don’t want to be married to someone who is more excited about his work than having a conversation with me over coffee.

I want someone who looks forward to spending time with me.

I want someone who makes me want to leave work early because I know they’re waiting for me.

Marriage is more than sex, and passion may fade, but I shouldn’t have to settle for someone who thinks all our problems will be solved by a hall pass for the summer.

This month away from Bryce has opened my eyes to exactly how much time I spent convincing myself that I was content, as opposed to actually being content.

Ian has given me the time and space to figure out what makes me happy, and it’s him. Plain and simple.

“It’s after nine,” I say, going back to his suggestion of dinner. “Didn’t you eat?”

“I had a snack on the plane.”

I turn to the living room, where I set my purse and keys down on the table. “What time did you get in?”

He follows behind me, tossing himself on the sofa. “A few hours ago.”

I blink around. “A few hours ago? What were you doing all day?” I wave my hand toward the kitchen. “You could have made yourself something.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know when you would be home, so I thought I’d wait.”

“Because if I made something, you could eat. But you would never make me something to eat for when I got home.”

He tips his head. “Ah, come on. I’m not trying to start a fight.”

“But you are, though. I’ve been working all day, yet you expect me to make you a meal.”

He motions to the hall, where he still hasn’t moved his luggage. “I’ve been traveling.”

To think I went from a man saying he’d wait for me to a man saying he’d wait for me to make him dinner .

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for a conversation I’m not ready to have but cannot avoid.

I clear my throat and take a seat across from him.

“I feel like I should ask you about your trip, but that would be disingenuous.” At his confused expression, I explain, “I did a lot of thinking while you were gone, and I’ve come to the realization that for the last few years, that’s all we’ve talked about. ”

“What do you mean?”

“We ask each other about our days, and that’s pretty much it. Aside from an argument about dinner or some boring lecture you want me to go to, we don’t talk .”

“Boring lecture?” He sits up, offended, having missed my actual point. “You’re calling my lectures boring?”

“Yes, Bryce. Some of your lectures are boring, but I meant all of it. All of the conferences and speeches and award ceremonies, I attend them all for you, but you’ve never once come to things I’ve invited you to.”

“Because why would I care about some fall street festival?”

I shoot my arm out at him. “Because I care! I care, and you don’t.

I went to all of your lectures, because you asked me to.

Because you wanted me to support you, and I have, but I can’t expect that in return, and I’m tired of pretending like we care about each other’s days when you obviously don’t care about mine. ”

“Wow.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Didn’t expect to come home to this.”

“I didn’t expect you to come home,” I say, which only annoys him further. “I thought I had a few more days until you returned.”

That has his brows rising. “Oh yeah? Did you have something special going on?”

If he only knew.

“No, but I wanted to have more of an idea of what I’d say to you.”

He snorts. “You’ve said quite a lot.”

And I am not done. “I want a divorce.”

He shoots up to standing. “You what ?”

“I want a divorce.”

He begins crisscrossing the room, repeatedly raking his hands over his hair. “Why? Where is this coming from?”

I shake my head, confused by his level of shock. This honestly can’t be that surprising. “Why? You asked for an open marriage. You’ve been gone for a month, and we barely talked. You can’t honestly tell me you’re surprised.”

“Yeah, the fuck I can.”

I don’t know what else to say, so I stay quiet and cross my arms, waiting for him to stop pacing.

“Are you punishing me? Is that what this is? I wanted to try something new, so you want a divorce?”

“No, this isn’t a punishment. This is me being honest with you and myself. Neither one of us is happy.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never seriously considered divorce.”

“No, only an open marriage.”

He stops and pivots to look at me. “Is this about someone else? Were you with someone else while I was gone?”

I don’t feel like now is the time for that particular conversation, so I veer around it. “This is about how you wanted to try something else, so we could both find what makes us happy—and I did.”

“A divorce? A divorce would make you happy?” When I nod, his answering laugh is pure derision. “Oh, okay. Yeah. That makes sense.”

I don’t want to be pulled into a more of a fight, so instead of giving in to my growing ire, I snatch my purse and keys back up. “You can’t have it both ways. You can’t ask for an open marriage and then be surprised when I want more than what we have.”

He catches my elbows, preventing me from walking away. “This is a rough patch. We can work through it.”

“A rough patch was us needing to go to marriage counseling. You wanting to have an affair by calling it an open marriage is black-hole territory.”

He tightens his hold so I don’t try to turn away. “You agreed to this!”

“You’re right. I did. I did research, and I—unlike you—was careful about my decision. I wanted rules and boundaries and to understand what your goals were out of all of this, but you simply wanted to have sex with someone else. You don’t care about our relationship.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then tell me why you want to stay together.”

“Because I love you.” Although, he says it like an instant callback. There is no real emotion behind it. No thought or action to back it up.

“You don’t love me. You’re simply afraid of losing me. And what’s funny in all of this is you could’ve saved us this trouble by being honest with yourself and me. Years ago.” I wiggle my arm free. “I’m going to spend the night somewhere else. We can talk more tomorrow.”

He follows me to the door, standing in my way. “So you don’t care about what I have to say? What I want?”

I shake my head. “I do care about you. I want you to be happy, and I know you’re not.

You said so yourself before you left. So, all of this—” I wave my hand around at him “—it only goes to show you don’t care about what I want or how I feel.

You wanted an open marriage. You don’t want me to leave.

It’s all about you. It was your idea to see other people because you assumed you’d be happier, and I went along with it.

I’m telling you now that I’ve been happier this summer than I have in a long time, and I’m asking you to try to understand where I’m coming from. ”

“I can’t. Nicole, we’re married . You’re my wife .” He sounds destroyed, and I look away, guilt racking my bones.

“I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but I need to put myself first.”

“That’s fucked up. I didn’t know you could be so selfish.”

It is the one thing he could say to make me stay. To bend me to his will. But I’m done people pleasing. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the stinging in my eyes to subside.

“I’m sorry, Bryce. I really am, but I’m leaving.”

He doesn’t make a move to stop me as I walk out, and I exhale a shaky breath into the warm night sky before pulling out my phone to call Ian. He picks up immediately. “Hey, baby.” When I sniffle, his tone changes. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I come over?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be waiting at the door.”