Page 54 of When I Should’ve Stayed (Red Bridge #2)

Josie

I look up at the clock that sits in my grandmother’s kitchen and stare as both hands approach the twelve at the top.

Any minute, Clay should be showing up.

My heart pounds furiously inside my chest, and my hands shake as I lift the sealed envelope out of my purse and set it on the kitchen table.

I try to busy myself with washing dishes in the sink even though there’s a dishwasher that could make the job go quicker, but the distraction is nothing against the culmination of emotion built in the last forty-eight hours of pure hell.

After Eileen’s exclusive interview with Clay hit the streets of Red Bridge, my phone has been ringing nonstop.

Melba wanting me to schedule cake tasting appointments.

Three different men in town who think they’d be great DJs vying for the spot.

Sheriff Peeler wanting to talk about security for the wedding day.

The mayor wanting me to talk logistics of the ceremony in the town square.

And Betsy wanting me to come into her dress shop to go through bridal catalogues for my wedding dress.

Everyone in town is buzzing over the news of the May 14th date that Clay chose for us without my input, and I’m withering inside with the knowledge that it’ll never happen.

Not then. Not ever.

I’ve spent the last two days avoiding Clay entirely, using the same staying at Grandma Rose’s to go through her stuff excuse I’ve been using since my surgery two weeks ago and biding my time to get prepared.

It’s not easy leaving the man you love behind, and I’ve talked myself in and out of it at least half a dozen times.

I’m not just grieving over Grandma Rose. I’m not just grieving over the moments when I thought I’d lost Clay for good or the baby I lost. I’m grieving over the future I thought Clay and I would have and figuring out a way to give it to him without me.

Three soft knocks to the door and I pause mid-scrub. My heart jumps back into action, pounding so hard it’s consuming my ears, and I turn off the water and set down the coffee cup to head to the front door.

I open it slowly, much like I would Pandora’s box. Because I know, of course, that tonight, they’re one and the same.

Clay’s hair is a mess from running his fingers through it a million times, and his brown eyes look tired from working all day in the bar, but his smile is as beautiful as I’ve ever seen it. It is wide and genuine, and I swear, he’s never let me down when he looks at me.

“Damn, woman, I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

He’s through the door and pulling me into his arms before I can stop him, and my chest aches like there are a million pounds sitting squarely on top of it.

He puts his lips to mine, and I know I shouldn’t let this kiss linger, but I can’t stop myself from savoring the feel of it one last time.

The kiss is deep and special, like always, but the occasion makes it seem even more poignant. One day, Clay Harris is going to kiss a woman like that who can give him everything he deserves and then some.

Clay breathes me in, and an urgent sadness makes me push him away. I avoid his eyes, but he’s not discouraged.

That’s the problem with Clay. He never is.

“So, what did you need help with here?” he asks, following me into the kitchen. “No pressure, Jose, but I’m really hoping it’s to help you finally move all your stuff into our place. I miss you so much it’s bordering on unhealthy.”

God. I knew this would be terrible, but it’s so much worse than I imagined. It’s debilitating.

Maybe if I were a stronger person, I’d have told Clay the truth from the start.

I’d have told him about the baby and that I lost it.

I’d have told him I was in pain from the miscarriage and that I was worried it wasn’t normal, and he wouldn’t have let me wait four days before going to my follow-up appointment.

Maybe I wouldn’t have been in such bad shape, and maybe, just maybe, Dr. Norrows wouldn’t have had to take my ovary.

Maybe I wouldn’t have a next-to-zero chance of having the kids Clay so desperately wants, and maybe we’d find a way to move on together.

But none of that is what happened. And now, I have to face it.

I’m not strong enough to be the wife he deserves. And I’m definitely not strong enough to walk down the aisle in the town square with everyone close to us watching on and tell him “I do” again when I know what I’ve done.

I stand at the kitchen table, staring down at the sealed envelope. I hesitate to pick it up. But when I hear Clay’s footsteps stop right behind me, I know it’s now or never.

“I need to give you this,” I say and lift the envelope into my hands. The paper feels hot against my fingers, like it has the ability to burn my skin, so I shove it into his hands before it can.

Before I can change my mind—before I convince myself to stay.

He looks at me curiously, his eyes flitting between my face and the envelope, and I silently fight the shredding pain of my heart being torn apart.

“Jose, what’s going on?” he asks. I blink hard against tears, steeling myself to do what I know is right.

It has to be right.

“Just open it.”

He searches my face for a long moment, but eventually, he slides his finger under the seal and opens the envelope. And when he slips his hand inside to pull the papers out, my engagement ring falls into his hand.

His face goes from confused to devastating discomfort in an instant. And it’s like I can literally feel his heart sink into his shoes as he stares down at the ring in his hand.

“Why…w-what is this?” he asks, his eyes moving to mine again.

Emotion clogs my throat like a dam. I can barely get the words out, but somehow, I manage. “Just read the papers.”

He scans the papers I printed in the library this afternoon, and I lick my lips with anticipation. It’s the lowest I’ve ever felt, and I cling to the freedom I’m desperate for him to have on the other side. It’s the only thing holding me together.

“Josie, are these divorce papers?”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice jagged and raw, and Clay’s eyes jerk up to mine. It’s like…until he heard me speak, he still thought it was some kind of joke.

“You want a divorce?”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeat.

“What the fuck is going on?” he questions, his voice escalating with a mixture of anger and sadness and a million other painful emotions.

He’s caught off guard, and that’s my fault too.

I’ve willfully fed into his delusions about how we were doing for a long time now.

“I don’t… I don’t…I don’t understand. Why? ”

“I can’t do it, Clay,” I tell him, and my voice is so pathetically weak. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“You can’t be married to me?” he asks, his posture deflated and agitated all at once. All I can do is nod. “You want to divorce me? Is this a fucking nightmare?” Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and my nose burns with the suppression of my own like a raging fire.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” A humorless laugh jumps from his lungs.

“You’ve said that a lot. That you’re sorry.

But what you haven’t said is why you want a divorce .

This isn’t pretend, Josie. This is real fucking life.

This isn’t a fight we get over and come crawling back from the next day.

This is the end of us as we know it. That’s what you want? ”

“I know better than anyone that life isn’t some made-up fairy tale,” I spit back.

It’s unfair in the worst of ways, but I know more than anyone in this world what’s at stake here.

I know the unbearable, fucked-up pain of knowing I’ll never have it.

“But you’re ready to move on, and I’m not.

You want the future, and I think it’s high time you looked toward it without me in it. ”

“Is this because of that stupid fucking article? Because I picked a date for us? If you’re not ready, I’ll give you time. If you don’t want the fucking wedding, we don’t have to have it. I just want—”

“It’s more than that,” I say, knowing the dismissal will feel vicious. I need it to. I need him to hate me. “It’s everything. I’m sorry. I can’t go back. I can’t stay married to you.”

“So, that’s it?” he asks sardonically, dropping the papers and ring on the kitchen table, poison in his tone. “You’ve decided you’re done, so we’re done.” He paces the floor in front of me, anger and insecurity making his normally vibrant stature seem two feet tall. “Am I getting this right?”

“I’m sorry, Clay,” I whisper, my tears finally bursting through my carefully crafted fortress. He sees my weakness and uses it against me, pulling me into his arms and slamming his mouth down on mine.

“I love you, baby. I love you so much. I love you more than anything,” he whispers against my lips, and I push away roughly.

I shove the papers and ring back into the envelope and force it back into his chest, hardening myself out of necessity.

“It’s over, Clay. You can’t stay. So, go. I want you to go!”

He drops to his knees and pulls my hands into his, but I rip them away and take two steps back. “You need to leave,” I say, and when he doesn’t budge, I turn hysterical. “You need to leave! It’s over!”

I shove him in the shoulder until he sways back on his knees, and I scream over and over again as tears stream down his cheeks. “Leave, Clay! Leave right now!”

“Fine. Fucking fine,” he says, stifling a sob and climbing to his feet.

“You want a divorce, Josie? I’ll fucking give you one.

” He rips open the pink front door and turns back just once to look over his shoulder.

“I’ll make sure my lawyer gets these papers filed for you.

I’ll make sure you never need to see my fucking face again. ”

The door slams behind him, and I drop to my knees before crumpling all the way to the floor.

It’s done.