Broken Woman

EVIE

^SIX HOURS EARLIER^

Saying goodbye to Sam—after he tortured me into my most intense climax ever, after we ate Chinese together on the floor and slept curled together in our makeshift blanket nest, after we woke each other with kisses and caresses—was hard. In more ways than one.

I found myself pressed between Sam and the drywall next to my front door, his erection pressed into my abdomen through his jeans as we made out like teenagers.

The heat of his hands burned where he cupped my jaw as he threw his tongue into the equation.

What I would give right now for another round.

As he peeled back, he eyed my lips and grazed the soft pad of his thumb over my bottom one. “I’m already counting down the minutes until I’m between your legs again, angel.”

“Why, so you can torture me some more?”

“No, not tonight,” he muttered. “Tonight, I think you’re gonna find out how sweet and ~giving~ I can be.”

I beamed and eyed his lips, hoping for another kiss. “Either way, I’m looking forward to it.”

He leaned in, sneaking one more too-brief smooch before pulling back and heading toward the door. “See ya tonight, angel.”

I shook myself and went to get dressed. Sam had errands to run, and so did I. Surely I was too old for this—to miss someone so strongly the second he walked out the door.

I was just putting on the last of my makeup when an unexpected knock sounded at the door.

~Sam. He must’ve forgotten something here in the wave of hormones—his keys, maybe.~

I strutted through the hall with a smile. If Sam was back, even just for a minute, I could get one last steamy smooch before I had to survive the day without him.

But when I opened the door, my eyes widened, and my gut dropped at the sight of a completely different man.

“Evie,” Greg said with a curt nod.

“Greg?” I furrowed my brows. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to talk,” he said.

“N-no, I mean, how did you know I was here…in this building?” I certainly hadn’t given him my new address, and I hadn’t been planning to. I’d kind of thought after I rejected him, he would go back to Washington and leave me alone. Maybe that was naïve.

“I’ve been your husband for nearly ten years. You don’t think I know your license plate number?”

“~Ex~—husband,” I said, correcting him. And wow, the implications there were terrifying. Did he just drive around town till he spotted my car outside an apartment building, then knock on doors till he found mine? Talk about obsessive.

Greg jabbed his way past me, waltzing in as if he owned the damn place.

I closed the door, preparing for an argument. That was all that ever happened between us anymore—even before the divorce. Talking to him always left me feeling like hell had swallowed me whole.

“Did The Suit sleep here last night?” Greg asked in a disgusted tone as he spotted the mess of blankets, food cartons, and burned-out candles.

I crossed my arms. “Frankly, Greg, the moment you served me with divorce papers, you lost your right to care about who I do or don’t sleep with.”

“When are you gonna drop the rebound guy and come home?” he asked, spinning to face me.

“This is my home now, Greg. And Sam isn’t a rebound. He’s far from it.”

It was true. I could admit by now: I was falling hard for Sam. Maybe even a little too hard, so soon after a divorce. But it felt so good to be around someone who actually treated me with respect.

“So you told The Suit the truth, then?” Greg asked with raised brows.

My nostrils flared, and I fought the instinct to dissolve into tears as Greg twisted the conversation in his favorite direction. My weakness. My trauma.

“Oh, I see.” He scoffed, swaying his head in response to my silence. “That’s a no.”

I wasn’t ready to talk to Sam about that. For him to look at me differently. And frankly, it was none of Greg’s business. Right?

“Jesus, Evie…,” Greg said with a disparaging chuckle. “What do you think is going to happen after he wastes years with you only to be told that ~you~ can’t have kids?”

“I didn’t know, Greg!” I barked. “Okay? I didn’t trick you or anything. I didn’t know when we got married that I couldn’t have kids. Clearly, if I’d known, you never would’ve married me, so I guess I’m sorry for wasting both our time.”

“~Now~ you know,” Greg stressed. “That makes it even worse that you’re not being honest with The Suit. If you’re not willing to talk to this guy about the hard stuff, it’s only a matter of time before you take off on him—the same way you took off on me.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I snarled, ignoring the tears pooling in my eyes.

“It means you run from your goddamn problems, Evie! You ran from me, after all. You sold off your business and ran back home like a puppy with your tail between your legs. It’s pathetic.”

~He’s right. That’s exactly what I did.~

“You’re a broken woman, Evie,” Greg muttered. “The one thing your body was designed to do, it can’t. The Suit won’t love you. Not the way I do. You’re fooling yourself if you think there’s anyone else out there who will love you despite your flaws.”

My pooling tears hit their limit, spilling down my cheeks. I’d said those exact words to Greg when I first found out I couldn’t conceive. ~“I’m a broken woman. I’m so sorry.”~

At the time, Greg had held me. ~“It’s okay,”~ he’d said. ~“We’ll figure it out.”~ But it wasn’t, and we didn’t. It hurt like hell for him to throw that in my face now.

“So, I’m going back to my hotel,” Greg said. “When you’re done with your little delusion, come find me.”

“I’ll never do that,” I choked out. “You might as well just go home, Greg. I don’t know what’ll happen with Sam, and it’s none of your business either way, but I do know that I’m finished with you for good.”

Greg’s lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “You say that now. We’ll see. This life you’re building? It’s a house of cards, and when it all comes toppling down, guess who’ll be here to pick up the pieces?”

Greg whirled for the exit, leaving me in a pool of despair. I couldn’t move or speak. Couldn’t yell or defend myself. Because his venomous words unearthed all the ugly feelings still burrowed in my heart.

~I’m shattered. Fragmented. Incomplete. And no matter what I do, I always will be.~

The door slammed, snapping me from my toxic thoughts. I tore my cell from my pocket, dialing the first number that came to mind. Saanvi.

After two rings, she answered. “Hey. How was—”

“I think I need to get a second opinion on my fertility,” I said, cutting to the chase. “I wanna be sure before I tell Sam anything that will blow up our relationship. We’re still so new, and I don’t wanna end it if there isn’t a reason to.”

She paused. “You know that being infertile wouldn’t necessarily mean the end of your relationship, right?” she asked, sounding concerned. “Plenty of guys don’t want kids. And if he does want kids, there’s adoption, surrogacy…”

“I know all that,” I snapped. “I have drawers full of research about all the options. It didn’t help with Greg. I’m not having this conversation with another guy till I’m a hundred percent sure it’s necessary.”

“All right, all right. I have a good relationship with my ob-gyn back in Connecticut; I’ll give her a ring. I’m sure she can use her connections to get you an appointment somewhere up here ASAP.”

“Okay.”

“It’ll be all right, Evie,” Saanvi murmured. “I promise. One way or another. I’ll call you back after I speak with her.”

True to her word, Saanvi called back a few minutes later to say she’d gotten me an appointment bright and early tomorrow morning. Impressive; hardly any medical offices were open on Sundays.

I moped around the apartment for a while, feeling sorry for myself. Then I texted Sam, pretending to be sick.

As much as I wanted to see him, to have him hold me and reassure me that everything would be okay, I couldn’t trust that—not right now. I didn’t want to see him again till I had some answers.

After another hour of lying around doing nothing, a knock echoed at my door.

~Fuck. Was Greg back to shatter my confidence some more?~

My stomach plunged, and I rose from my makeshift bed to peer through the peephole. If it was Greg, I just wouldn’t open the door. I’d stay quiet and wait for him to go away.

Nope. It was Sam, holding a paper grocery bag and looking just as handsome as he’d looked six hours ago.

I sucked in a breath, trying to clear my airway so I wouldn’t sound too upset.

“What’re you doing here, Vázquez?”

“I just came to drop off some soup and ginger ale,” he said after a moment.

My burning eyes once again swelled with warmth, and my breath wavered, though I tried to hold it steady. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” I muttered.

“Evie…you know I don’t care about that, right?”

I cupped my hand over my mouth to choke back a sob. At this point, I knew I couldn’t make my voice sound normal enough that it wouldn’t freak Sam out.

I so badly craved to open the door—to tell Sam everything—to have his muscular arms encapsulate me. But I couldn’t. Not until I got that second opinion. Not until I knew for sure.

“O-okay, well…,” Sam stuttered. “I’ll leave the stuff here, and we’ll just talk Monday, okay?”

His footsteps faded. I leaned my back against the closed door, sliding toward the floorboards in another wave of tears.