Page 45 of The Ex Effect (Meet Cute in Minnesota #1)

TWENTY-NINE

MORGAN

I made it all the way home, all the way into my driveway, and just about into my house when I broke down again. I kicked the door closed behind me, collapsed to my knees, and bawled into my hands.

I wanted to beg Frankie not to leave. To tell her I thought we really had a shot this time, to convince her to stay and try, and build a life together.

But last time I did that, I nearly destroyed Frankie’s chances at what turned out to be a better life.

And as much as it killed me, Frankie never regretted her decision back then to leave, and neither did I regret staying.

Even at eighteen, we knew what was right for us.

When I said we could be friends, I meant it.

Sort of. But eventually, Frankie would find someone.

And when that happened, I would not be able to watch the love of my life be with someone else.

People who can do that type of thing are much stronger than me.

The idea of another woman holding Frankie at night made me want to throw up.

But until that inevitable day came, we could try and maintain a friendship, even with my heart breaking.

I didn’t want Frankie out of my life, I knew that for sure. But friendship would never be enough .

The next several hours drifted by in a daze.

Minutes flew by like hours, and yet I couldn’t believe it was the afternoon before I finally dragged myself out of bed and stepped into the shower.

The water did little to relieve the tension in my body.

I wasn’t sure if it was from the months working in the barn, the wedding last night, or the physical pain of my heart splitting, but I almost felt worse when I stepped out.

Cozied up in my robe, I tried to read a book—something I didn’t normally have the luxury to do—but the words blurred. I slammed it shut and pulled open my laptop instead.

Emails from the last few days piled up, but I didn’t have the energy to respond.

I flipped on the TV, but the images were too much for my eyes.

All I wanted to do was to go back into the bed and cry it out.

But even dragging myself down back to my bed felt exhausting, and I wasn’t even sure if I had tears left.

I was dehydrated and dizzy with fatigue, but when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t sleep.

When my phone buzzed and I saw a message from Frankie, I couldn’t read it. Contact with her right now would just reinforce that my heartache was real. Besides, nothing she—or I—could say would change the situation. Frankie was leaving, and we would never be together.

I lifted my phone to call Sam and get some solid sibling advice, but depending upon if it was before nap time for the kids, or a rare nap time for himself, his emotional response might not be what I needed. So, I lay back in bed and put on the Love ’Em or Leave ’Em podcast.

Different callers left various messages for Ruby.

One was a burnt-out mom crushing on the nanny, one a dad who asked how wrong it was to pretend to be in the garage working to avoid dishes, and one a wife supporting her spouse on a new work adventure.

The question “do I clip their wings or let them fly” resonated with me.

As much as it was killing me right now, at least I would never clip Frankie’s wings again. She deserved to fly.

“So, everyone, I’m doing something a little different today.

” Ruby’s voice shifted, and something in the change made me crack my eyes open.

“A caller left a message last week but wasn’t asking for any advice and instead offering some of their own.

For whoever needs to hear this, here’s Laurie from Iowa. ”

I tapped up the volume and wrapped my arms around a fuzzy pillow.

“Hi, Ruby. I’m not sure why I’m calling you, but I really needed to talk to someone.

Which I understand is strange since I’m not really talking to you, just leaving a message,” the woman with a worn, tired voice started.

“Last month, I lost my husband of forty-two years. He was the love of my life, the father of my children, and as the grandkids like to say, my partner in crime—although we were always pretty outstanding citizens and never even got so much as a speeding ticket.”

I smiled at the sweet woman and threaded my fingers on the pillow frays.

“We worked hard our whole life and saved for retirement. Felt like we made a lot of sacrifices for this magical retirement number, and we’d always say, ‘When we retire, let’s take the cruise,’ or ‘When we retire, let’s buy that fancy bottle of wine,’ or ‘When we retire, let’s do date nights on Wednesdays. ’”

Her voice cracked and my ears perked.

“And, well, I never quite did feel like we were living in our moment. We got by, day to day, and waited for our time to come. Well, George and I both retired in May. Had a big cake, said goodbye to his job, and was ready to get to the good stuff. We started having date nights on Wednesdays, and we booked a cruise for September.”

Her voice cracked again. I didn’t know this woman, but my heart tugged for her .

“Well, all that to say is, my George died last month. Was there having supper with me, and the next morning, gone.” A sniffle sounded through the speakers.

“So I guess, I just really like listening to your podcast but never had a need to write in because George and I had such a good marriage. For forty-two years we talked about all the things we would do. But ya know, we didn’t do none of them.

And by God, if I could have a do-over, I would not wait for retirement.

I would not wait until the kids got older or until the grandkids were born, or until the house was paid off.

I’d take that trip, drink that wine, have that date night.

So, not sure if your listeners will need this at all, but if you could just tell them, do the things that make you happy in the moment . You can figure out the rest later.”

I flipped onto my back and stared at the ceiling.

I was the listener that needed to hear that message, and someday I’d write Ruby Reanne and tell her that.

Even in the short term, I deserved happiness.

Frankie was leaving regardless, and it was going to hurt like hell no matter if I spent the last days with her or sobbing into my body pillow.

At least now, I could spend the time loving the hell out of Frankie, not crying over her departure.

I bolted from the bed and grabbed the phone. When I dialed Frankie, she answered within two rings. “I have an idea.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie said, a smiling hesitation in her voice. “What’s that?”

I stuffed my legs into a pair of jeans and grinned into the receiver. “Can you pick me up on your motorcycle in an hour? I need to take you somewhere.”