Page 39 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

Nicole

A fter a week with Aunt Sue in Maine, I am more excited about my future than I’ve ever been. She was right—the whale watching did put me in a better mood, and the hours of talking, planning, and making phone calls to attorneys have helped me set everything in order.

But it doesn’t make me any less nervous walking into my house, knowing what I have to say. Having no idea how Bryce will react.

I find him in the kitchen, slumped at the table, his laptop open while his gaze is fixed outside of the window, and the very last thing I ever expect him to do is to inhale swiftly and audibly when he spots me.

Pushing up to stand, he roves his eyes over me, face going slack before he offers me a smile. “You look beautiful.”

I glance behind me as if he might be speaking to someone else. Of course, he isn’t, and I fidget with my bracelet, the same one Ian toyed with the day he implied I was stronger than I appeared.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat, casting my focus around the room, dishes piled up in the sink, takeout boxes stacked on the counter, a tied-up garbage bag by the back door, probably because it needed to go out last night but he never got around to it.

“You look like you got some sun,” he says with two steps toward me, and I tug on my plain T-shirt, the V-neck collar revealing my tan from the afternoons I spent outside, enjoying the sunshine and salt air.

“I did.”

“Where did you go?”

Before I left, I texted him one message that I was going away and we would talk when I got back. He didn’t respond until midweek, when he apologized profusely for yelling at me. I didn’t reply.

“I stayed with my aunt.”

He nods and motions for me to sit down at the table, clearing it of the empty coffee mug and half-full glass of water.

My hands tremble slightly, and I wrap my left fist around my right, reminding myself I am strong. That I can take this step because I’ve chosen to.

I perch on the edge of the chair as he sits across from me and smiles hopefully, as if we didn’t have a blowup in the middle of Aster Street and this summer has been business as usual for us.

I’m not sure if he’s delusional or merely that arrogant, assuming I won’t actually leave him.

“We need to talk.”

He rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Yeah. Okay.”

Silence settles between us because all the words I’ve practiced have slipped from my brain. So I reach for the closest ones. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want a divorce.”

He blinks a few times, showing no emotion for a full minute, which I only know because I watch the seconds tick by on a big decorative clock hanging on the wall opposite me. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.”

My rehearsed lines come back to me, and I sweat like an actress under stage lights. “Why? We might as well be roommates, and I’m not sure what other outcome you expected when you decided you wanted to open our marriage.”

“I didn’t expect you to cheat on me,” he says with no trace of heat in his voice. It’s all hurt.

But I don’t feel an ounce of sympathy. Not anymore. “By definition of what we agreed to, I did not cheat on you.” Flicking my hand out to him, I let my irritation loose. “Besides, you were doing the same thing.”

“I wasn’t!” He explodes from his position to stalk across the room. “I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

Now that surprises me. I have no words.

He tunnels his fingers through his hair, turning in a tight circle, his eyes on the ceiling. “While you were fucking your tattoo artist, I was drinking and regretting the decision.”

I cover my gaping mouth with my hand, truly gobsmacked. He was the one who wanted to go out and meet other people, have sex with other people. And he didn’t do any of it?

“I was bored, I guess,” he admits, shoulders drooping, chin to his chest. “I thought it would be like when I was younger, go out and sow some oats and get over it. But apparently…” He raises his head and meets my gaze. “No one wants a forty-year-old with oats to sow.”

If I weren’t so angry, I might laugh because I was right about all of it. “You were bored? With me?”

He lets his arms flop down at his sides. “With life in general. I thought I could find some excitement. It was never about you.”

“We’re married. Of course it’s about me.”

He takes his seat again, showing every one of those forty years on his face all of a sudden. “Yeah, but it’s not like I don’t want you anymore. I want to be married to you.”

“You’re bored,” I reiterate with a sardonic laugh, feeling like I’m the only one living in reality. “And I’m your wife. So, if you’re bored with your life, you’re bored with me.”

He scrubs his hands over his face then takes a deep breath. “I think, maybe, it was never about finding excitement with someone else.” He licks his lips, jaw working like he’s psyching himself up for something. “I think I was hoping that was the answer, because the real answer is I want a baby.”

I shake my head ruefully. I knew it. I felt it in my bones.

“Why? We agreed.”

“My colleagues at work are always talking about their kids, and I’ve been thinking a lot about my childhood and how I think I would like to give my experience to someone else.”

I can understand that, but it’s not what I want.

It’s not what I ever wanted. Not having kids was one of the things that brought us together.

At a time when twentysomethings were dating to find their life partner, usually being a parent is at the front and center of their preferred qualities.

Bryce and I agreeing we didn’t want any made it easy to pair off together.

Still, he asks, “You think you might change your mind?”

I shake my head with an aggravated huff. “You know I had my tubes tied. You were there, in the hospital.”

“Yeah, but you could get it reversed.” When I start to argue, he cuts me off. “Or we could adopt.”

“ Bryce .”

He frowns, and finally hearing the truth sends the fight straight out of me.

For how smart he is, I can’t believe he’d make such a dumb assumption.

“So, you decided you wanted a baby, and instead of having a conversation about it with me, you thought we’d have an open marriage and that would fix your wanting a child? ”

“Essentially, yeah.” His eyes turn glassy, and the show of emotion seeps some of the ire from my chest, replaced with a sentiment that’s not quite pity but close to it.

Fuck around and find out.

“You understand that both of these choices were yours, and you’re regretting both of them. You are right. This isn’t about me. This is about you not knowing who the hell you are. What you want in life. And it is certainly not me.”

He sniffs and clears his throat a moment before he drops his head into his hands. “God, I’ve ruined everything.”

A part of me wants to comfort him, while another part of me—a bigger part—hates him for putting me through so much pain.

I’m not sure what the outcome would have been if he’d talked to me about what he was feeling, but we’ll never know.

There is no going backward. He wants a child, and I have a relationship with Ian.

This isn’t something we can work through with counseling.

This is the end for our marriage.

Despite the anger still simmering in my belly and the resentment flowing through my veins, I’m cloaked in sorrow. I know my future is bright, but it’s never easy to say goodbye. My eyes burn as they fill with tears, and I preemptively wipe at them.

My voice cracks when I tell him, “I think deep down I’ve known for a while that we weren’t right for each other.”

He swipes the back of his hand over his eyes and nose, blinking over at me. “But we were happy once. Weren’t we?”

The truth is that I’m not sure, but I don’t know if I have it in me to say so. This is hard enough as it is; there is no need to make it worse. I wipe my cheeks. “I guess, somewhere along the way, we stopped talking and having fun and putting each other first.”

We’re both quiet for a while, accepting our new reality and drying our tears. Ten years ago, I never would have expected I’d be here having this conversation with my husband, but then again, I never expected to fall in love with Ian Stone.

All of this has taken me by surprise, and while it’s hard right now, I know it will get better.

“I wouldn’t take it back,” Bryce says, meeting my gaze. “All my time with you, I wouldn’t take any second of it back.”

I nod because I wouldn’t take it back either. Being with Bryce was part of the reason why I decided to move away from home permanently, and marrying him taught me a lot about myself. Breaking up with him taught me even more.

Going through this terrible time led me to the person I know is right for me. So, I can’t take it back. I can’t take any of my choices back, even the ones that hurt.

I bite my lip, finding words I hope comfort him. “I want you to find what makes you happy. We both deserve that.”

Bryce’s shoulders drop in defeat. “I really am sorry, Nicole. For everything.”

“I know,” I whisper. And I do. Despite the pain he’s caused me, I know Bryce is struggling in his own way. We both made missteps in this marriage. But staying together out of guilt or obligation isn’t the answer.

I rise slowly to my feet. “I’m going to pack up some of my things. I’ve already made arrangements with a lawyer for the papers, and the loan?—”

“I’m sorry about that too.” He shakes his head at himself. “I shouldn’t have said what I did that day. I didn’t mean it, especially about the loan.”

I shrug. “In any case, it’s taken care of.”

He doesn’t need to know the details about how my aunt lent me the money to pay it off, with the backing of her new husband. “What’s the point of marrying someone with money if you don’t use it?” she said.

Bryce merely nods, seeming small and lost, and he stands from the table. “I’m going to go out for a while, give you space to…do whatever you need.”

He takes a hesitant step toward me, and I think I know what he needs. The same as I do. Closure.

I hold my arms open, signaling him to meet me halfway in an embrace. Both of us begin to cry again, holding each other tight, rocking slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair.

“Me too,” I say, if only because I’m sorry we’re both in this very difficult place in our lives.

When we break apart, I see his eyes are red-rimmed, and I offer him a smile, one I hope conveys that I’m not going to harbor any hard feelings. “I’ll be out of here in an hour or so, and I’ll come back to get anything else another day.”

He nods a few times then combs his hair back from his face. “I guess I’ll see you around, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

I watch him walk to the front door and grab his keys from the hook. He pauses before opening the door, glancing back at me one more time. I offer him a small wave, and that’s it. The door shuts behind him, on the life we had together.

Alone now, I let out a long exhale. That was one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had. But it’s done now, and I straighten my shoulders to head to the bedroom, breathing deeply, attempting to loosen the tight feeling in my chest.

I pull my large suitcase out of the closet and neatly fold my clothes into it.

Shirts, pants, dresses all get packed away as I repeatedly count to ten in my head.

I grab underwear, socks, and pajamas too, all while speaking the words for the clothes out loud, keeping myself tethered to reality.

Once the big suitcase is full, I zip it up and move to a smaller one for things like shoes and toiletries, stretching my arms up high, my ribs constricting around my organs, like they might crack.

It doesn’t take long before I’ve packed up as much as I can fit, and my face hurts from crying.

The empty space in the closet and dresser reminds me that even though this chapter of my life is ending, a whole new one is beginning.

There will be new closets and dressers for me to fill.

And I’m really looking forward to it, but right now, I need help. I need comfort.

I need Ian.

After zipping up the last suitcase, I pull my phone from my pocket to call him. It rings a few times then goes to voice mail.

“Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know…

I’m back home in West Chester, at my house, and I’m packing up.

I’m going to stop by the store and then check in to a hotel.

” I breathe a few times through my nose.

“I really want to see you. I…” My voice breaks.

“I really need you, Ian. Please call me back when you get this. Love you.”

I end the call and wipe at my eyes. I know he’s probably busy at the shop, but I was hoping to hear his voice. To have him reassure me that I’m doing the right thing. That everything will be okay.

I take a minute to catch my breath and clear my vision then move my bags to the back door. Each trip reinforces my choice. This is the right path, even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts in this moment.

I only wish Ian could be here next to me as I take these steps. So they don’t feel like giant leaps of faith.