Page 131 of Faking Forever
Fuck, he’d walked a few paces down the path before sending this message. He must’ve been in a dead spot.
He needed to get to Kenna right fucking now.
He drove straight to her place, uncaring that he was exhausted and needed a shower. He had to see her and apologize for the inexcusable, staggering lack of consideration he’d shown her by simply leaving without a word.
Her car wasn’t there.
He sat in his Land Rover, arms hooked over the top of the steering wheel and staring at the empty spot where her car would normally be. He bit the inside of his cheek as he considered his nextmove.
Coming here first had been impulsive. It was probably good she wasn’t here. He could go home, shower, get his head on straight, think about what exactly he was going to say to her—after the apologies, of course.
He was about to have the most important conversation of his life and it would behoove him to be mentally and emotionally prepared for it.
After he got to his place, he checked his phone again. Nothing from Kenna.
He sent her a quick message.
Hey, I’m back. Just needed to clear my head. I’m so sorry, Kenna. You must think I’m such a prick. I didn’t mean to leave without a word. I can explain, okay? Think we can talk? Your place? In about an hour? I’ll bring takeout and wine.
He waited for a while. The message remained unread. Just one little gray check.
He stared at the screen for a long, troubled moment, before setting the phone aside. She was likely out with friends and not checking her messages right now.
He left his phone on charge on the kitchen counter and strode to his bedroom where—fuck—he still hadn’t changed the bedding. He’d simply dropped everything the other day and headed right back to the mountain.
After a long, invigorating shower, he finally stripped and remade the bed. Then checked his phone again.
Still unread. His brows slammed together and he tried calling her instead.
Immediately to voicemail.
Something was very,verywrong.
He stared blindly at his phone screen as he tried beat back the panic swelling in his chest.
He absently noted that there were currently five unread messages in his mailbox and he automatically tapped the icon, expecting a mix of spam and work correspondence. He didn’t like having unread messages and was about to mark it all as read when he noticed the second message down.
From his attorneys. Sent Friday at five-thirty p.m.
Completed Divorce Agreement?
Oh, fuck.
He tapped on the email and read the message from one of his law school buddies, Tom Marshall.
Smith,
Sorry this took so long. McKenna’s attorney had some health issues. He finally got back to us earlier. Everything’s in order. Final, signed document attached for your records. We’ll proceed first thing on Monday.
Have a good weekend.
Tom
He opened the attachment and groaned miserably when he saw that she’d signed and initialed every single page, the lines dated Friday.
He scraped a hand through his hair and tried to slow his breathing and heart rate down.
Oh, God!
