Rainstorm (The Perfect Storm Book 1) Page 5

  Yeah, the scene is ready.

  My heart is hammering hard in my chest.

  It’s almost six when I hear the door opening, and then the heavy footsteps I’d recognize anywhere. I put the meatloaf on the countertop, taking the oven mitts off as I turn around to greet him with a smile.

  These days apart have felt like centuries to me.

  We’ve been so far apart. And I mean more than physically.

  My lips tremble when his don’t curve up. Despite all my efforts, Chase isn’t smiling.

  He looks at me with a serious expression, his gaze dull, almost empty.

  And my heart stops.

  Guessing.

  Shattering.

  What in the hell is going on?

  I gather all my strength and lifting my chin, I walk over and kiss him. His lips are cold and don’t react to mine. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but I’m too scared to hear something I know I won’t like.

  Implosion.

  My steady body is just a mask.

  Hiding my inner turmoil, my sadness, my fears.

  To the mattresses, my inner voice shouts. Pasting on another smile, I follow through with my plan.

  “Are you hungry? Dinner is ready, I made your favorite tonight. I’m sure you’re going to like it.” I hope so, God, I need some help here. “It’s not burnt today.”

  He wants to smile, but something stops him, as if he’s suddenly remembered something.

  Oh no, no, no.

  I’m getting more and more nervous. An annoying voice is warning me that this is just the beginning.

  “Look, the table is finished.” I fail at my attempt to sound nonchalant. “Do you like it?”

  “It looks very nice, well done,” he responds, looking at it with a neutral face, touching the wood slowly, almost absently. He’s here, just in front of me, but his soul is somewhere else. Far, far away.

  Unreachable.

  Untouchable.

  “Roselynn, we need to talk. Please have a seat.”

  He’s used my full name. This is serious. I sit automatically without saying a word. I close my eyes preparing for what is to come. The first punch, figuratively of course, my husband has never hit me, and I’m sure he never would. It’s not in his nature.

  He’s a gentleman.

  Even though he’s always referring to himself as a caveman.

  He starts pacing back and forth while I take a moment to look at the man I fell in love with. He seems to be the same. Those stormy eyes that sometimes look blue and other days gray. He is so handsome, manly and loveable that it’s almost unreal. Somehow today is different, his attitude is different.

  He has changed, as have I. This much I know.

  These last months have been difficult for us, but never as bad as this. He’s wearing some kind of invisible armor. Something heavy, thick and impenetrable. Quietly, I observe as he gets his leather briefcase from its place beside the door, then produces a blue folder which he carefully places on the table in front of me.

  Damn it. He leaves it there without saying one word, and I know this is bad. Whatever is inside this folder is nothing good.

  His expression is pained.

  But not as pained as me.

  He’s just stabbed me.

  Fast, hard and in the middle of my chest. Right through my heart.

  It feels as if I have a hand on my throat squeezing so hard I can’t think, hell, I can’t even breathe.

  This is a lie.

  This is not happening.

  This is a nightmare.

  I need to wake up.

  This is a hallucination. Black letters screaming out loud about what’s inside that damn folder. My hands are trembling so much, I doubt I have the strength to even pick it up.

  This is like a time bomb no one wants to disarm.

  This is a death sentence.

  The end.

  Our story doesn’t have a happy ending. Our happily ever after wasn’t eternal.

  Hesitantly, I force myself to open the folder, as if it’s cursed. Like those explorers who dared to open the lid on Pharaoh’s sarcophagus. Calling something profane, evil.

  Murdering our shared life.

  “What is this, Chase?” My voice is just above a whisper.

  “You can see what it is.”

  But I cannot believe what I’m seeing right there in front of me.

  A divorce agreement.

  “Why?”

  Chase has brought me a divorce settlement. My husband wants to leave me, but somehow he’s already gone.

  “I want to do things amicably. We don’t have children, so that makes it easier. This will remain your home, and you keep your car. I have also arranged a monthly allowance, regardless of whether you take a job or not. It’s up to you, whatever you want to do is fine by me. You can also take advice from your own lawyer if you wish, I will not dispute that. I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

  Time to think.

  Fuck!

  Time to think about it?

  How dare he?

  Time. To. Think.

  “I don’t want time to think, I want my marriage back. I want my husband back. I want you back.” He might have had time to think about this, but Chase has just calmly thrown this bomb into my life, destroying everything I am, everything I have, leaving me completely devastated.

  When he just keeps his mouth shut, I want to hit him on the head so hard to knock some sense into him.

  “Why?” I ask. He at least owes me an explanation.

  “Roselynn, let’s not prolong this,” he murmurs, and already I can sense he’s not prepared to open up any more than this. “It’s all settled.”

  No. I’m not accepting his avoidance. Perhaps this shit is settled for him, but I deserve so much more; an explanation, a thousand of them.

  “You are a fucking coward, Chase Holland, a fucking coward! Who in the hell tells his wife that he wants a divorce like this? I want an explanation for God’s sake. I deserve an explanation!”

  The whole house is shaking because I’m yelling so loudly but I’ll be damned if I feel bad about it. If I don’t let these thoughts out, it’ll feel as if I’m holding my breath under water, that I’m drowning, suffocating.

  “Did you stop loving me?” I scream. “Is that it, Chase? You’ve met someone else?”

  I can’t bear the thought of him being unfaithful. His skin is mine, his body is mine. Or at least that’s what I thought.

  Until now.

  “There’s no one, I could never be with anyone else,” he states emphatically. “It’s only ever been you, Rose. You know how much I’ve loved you.”

  Loved.

  Past tense.

  “Until now!” I’m surprised I said that out loud.

  He closes his eyes, as if in deep pain. But I can’t feel pity for him, not when my own soul is bleeding.

  He says it’s settled. He says there is no going back.

  “I just want to know what’s happened, what’s gone wrong,” I insist, keeping my tears at bay. I can’t crumble now. “You owe me that much, surely.”

  Stay strong, Rose.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he starts, after a couple minutes of tense silence. “I’ve had some time between my work trips and I’ve decided that at this point in my life, I want to be free. I don’t want any ties.”

  “You’ve always been free, motherfucker, I’ve never forced you to stay with me.”

  “But I always feel responsible for you, Rose. And at this moment in my life, I don’t want that responsibility.”

  “So I’m a burden to you,” I murmur in disbelief. “I’m nothing more than a nag, a nuisance, an irritation.”

  I feel my heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. Our bond is broken, there’s nothing left worth fighting for if that’s how my husband sees me. It’s like battling the waves in a storm on the open sea.

  “I’ll go pack my things. I’ve made a reservation at a nearby hotel. You c
an get in touch if you need anything,” he informs me.

  If I need anything?

  How could I possibly ask him for anything, when he’s just told me he’s leaving because I’m too heavy a load to carry in his life.

  “I don’t need a single thing except you.” Begging is pathetic, I know, but he’s tearing my soul apart. Shredding it. Smashing it. “I need my husband to come back to me. My real husband, not this uncaring bastard standing in front of me.”

  He nods silently. At least he’s not trying to deny it.

  This isn’t the man I married.

  The man who swore to devote his life to me.

  Now he’s killing me and he knows it.

  I’ve been tossed aside, thrown out into a rainstorm and I’m drifting, out of my depth and drowning, with no safe haven to take shelter.

  And he’s the one who’s put me there.

  My home is now nothing more than debris at my feet. I don’t care about stone bricks and wood floors.

  I just care about love.

  About dreams.

  About my life dissolving between icy drops.

  Beaten.

  Broken.

  Busted.

  He thinks he can escape that easily, just walk out and leave me with all these shadows, all the ghosts of our memories in this house, which will become a tomb, a mausoleum of my dreams, if all hope for a life together is gone.

  “What has happened to us, Chase? I don’t understand why you’ve changed, why you’re acting this way. This isn’t you, just tell me the truth, you fucking liar!” I demand, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me.

  “Don’t make this more complicated, Rose. I’m leaving tonight.”

  “You aren’t leaving our home without an explanation. I’m your wife, I deserve that much, for fuck’s sake.” I’m screaming at him now, I’m losing control, but I really don’t care.

  “Rose, I have nothing further to say. I don’t think...”

  “You don’t think? But you’ve had plenty of time to think about this, since you said you were thinking about this before your trip. Fuck, I’m such a moron. I’ve spent days and days wondering how to rekindle our relationship. Planning something nice for us. All because I thought you loved me.”

  “This isn’t about love, Rose, I do care deeply about you.” Those words seem to almost choke him.

  “YOU CARE ABOUT ME? What does that even mean? Does it help me? Of course not. I don’t want your fucking CARE, Chase, I want your LOVE, your love.”

  My words seem to pierce him like a knife, and he slumps on the chair beside him, his face pale. “Rose, I’m so sorry.”

  “You can go fuck yourself. Go on, just fuck off if that’s what you want.” I’m beyond angry, I’m furious. Fuming, and don’t care that I’m swearing at him in a most unladylike way. In fact, I’m so fucking mad that I could easily lash out and hit him, hard, but I decide to conserve my strength.

  I’m going to need it.

  Without saying another word, I go to our bedroom and search in the closet for the biggest suitcases that we have.

  Correction. That we had. Past tense.

  There is no more we. ‘We’ don’t exist anymore.

  I have to start thinking in the singular. ‘We’ is an illusion that no longer exists.

  I have to force myself not to cry, not to act as if I’ve just been totally humiliated by my husband. I refuse to fall apart. I cannot allow myself to break down.

  I look up to find Chase watching me in silence as he leans against the doorframe. I meet his gaze for a moment, then resume desperately putting everything I see in front of me in the suitcase before forcing it closed. Of course, it’s impossible to take everything.

  All my dreams, as well as my broken heart, will remain here.

  “Rose, this isn’t necessary,” he pleads as I drag the heavy suitcases toward the door. “You don’t need to go, this is your house. I’m the one who should leave.” As I push past him in the doorway, I look up at him for what seems like the first time in years. Who is this man? I still don’t comprehend how it’s come to this. All I know is that I have to get out of here.

  I don’t reply. My silence will have to speak for me.

  I try taking a deep breath, filling my lungs.

  It’s impossible. They are filled with something else. Loss. Tears that I refuse to shed in front of him.

  I ignore his pleas, closing the door behind me. In my entire life, nothing has ever been as painful as this.

  He wants to be free? Well, he can be as free as he wants, I’m outta here.

  I will not be his burden anymore.

  I can take care of myself. I have no idea how, but I’ll find a way.

  I might have to give up on everything we have built together, but I will hold onto my dignity, my pride, and my courage.

  Miraculously, I manage to get in my car before I break down and start crying. Tears escape from my eyes like rain drops from the sky above, and sadly there is nothing I can do to stop the flood once it starts.

  The rainstorm and I are becoming one.

  Chapter 6

  Chase

  About six years ago

  I was walking on clouds.

  I had this beautiful sunshine girl sashaying alongside me, close enough for me to place my fingertips against the small of her back.

  Feeling her shudder. Feeling her breath change with every little touch. Ecstatic because the night—our night—had just begun.

  I was enjoying all these subtle foreplays, just thankful that she seemed impressed by the restaurant I’d picked out, since I’d struggled to come up with somewhere perfect.

  When you haven’t a clue where to go, what do you do?

  You Google it, right?

  So I’d put my laptop to good use, searching for the perfect place to impress the perfect girl. It was all about having a good time, showing her how captivated I was, how much that evening meant to me. The caveman inside me screamed ‘just make her forget all previous first dates. Make a memory, a fucking great one’.

  That’s why a patio table for two in a highly rated trendy Mediterranean style restaurant located in West Hollywood awaited us.

  The big smile pulling up her lips was my first reward of the night.

  “Like it?”

  It was a redundant question, but I wanted her to acknowledge her approval of my choice of venue for our first date. The self-indulgent side of me was taking over, as if emerging from the shadows the surrounding trees cast onto the cobblestone tiles, with little hanging lanterns creating a magical path for us.

  “This is awesome, thank you.”

  “So how am I doing? I hope you’re impressed,” I teased, already pretty sure of the answer.

  “You’re impressing me just by being you.” As those words left her gorgeous pouty mouth, I was dying to kiss her, but I didn’t want to rush things and scare her off.

  I had to be patient, so I could only anticipate how she would taste, if her lips had the spice of her sassiness, the sweetness of her smile and the warmth of her honeyed skin.

  But the spark was undeniably there between us heating, burning. Shining.

  The things she was doing to me. My head was dizzy with hot, hard lust, but also with something more powerful.

  A fierce thread entwining me. As lush as her thick, dark hair.

  She was bewitching me, casting her aura around me, engulfing me like a fog.

  So dense I could not see beyond her. Her. She filled every one of my senses. With that little silky dress. That perfume. Even that lip gloss I was dying to taste.

  I was in deep, deep shit.

  Drowning, sucked in by a whirlpool.

  At our table, I kept our fingers entwined, unwilling to give up the connection, so I had to maneuver the menu with one hand. It took forever to decide what to order when all I could think about was having her for my meal.

  “You know, you’re a real charmer, Holland,” she murmured quietly. “Tell me, is Holland rea
lly your last name?”

  A laugh—more like a growl—escaped from me.

  This girl.

  She frowned, her eyebrows forming a sweet little line just below the bangs of her gorgeous hair.

  “Of course it is. That’s a rather weird question.”

  “Well, I’ve met some rather weird people.”

  “And do you often have dinner with them?”

  “Sometimes.” She shrugged, a smile pulling at her lips. “Dating is a complicated game. Maybe I should buy a ‘Dating for Dummies’ book or something.”

  “A book written by some dork living in their parents’ basement?”

  “Well, that’d be something they’d have in common with me. I’m living over my parents’ garage, may I remind you.”

  “Not the same thing at all—you’re doing just fine, and you certainly don’t need any stupid book written for dummies,” I argued.

  Because she wasn’t going to be dating anyone else from that night.

  A new story was being written. Our story.

  “Did you have fun today with your mother?”

  Somehow that question surprised her, and she had to think about the answer for a couple seconds.

  “Don’t tell me you weren’t actually with your mother?” I scolded her mockingly.

  She shrugged before she replied. “Truth is, since I always have to get up for work at three in the morning, I indulged myself for once by staying in bed all day.”

  Fuck, what I wouldn’t have given to have been in that bed with her. But then she wouldn’t have gotten much rest.

  “So you dumped me for your bed?” I teased.

  “Ah, but it wasn’t just any bed, I’ll have you know. I spent a great deal of time searching out the perfect one. So, if you want to compete, you’ll have to be really good.”

  That sassy mouth was killing me.

  “Challenge accepted. Please feel free to check out my skills in your perfect bed any time you like.”

  Her cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t say a word. The spark in her eyes was more than enough, though.

  A dead giveaway.

  She wanted me just as much as I wanted her.

  When she turned her face to take in the scenery around us, the twinkling lights, the twisted and gnarled tree branches and the low hum of a couple guitars, my eyes remained glued to her profile.