No, she didn’t deserve to feel better. She’s the one who made all of the decisions that changed her internal makeup. She wasn’t the broken victim anymore, she wasn’t the heartbroken girl anymore—she’d changed her own story.
She’d rewritten her story to be the master of her own decisions, to do evil, and to fight for her life. She’d won, right? She had to live with these lies and her actions everyday of her life, but it was worth it. She’d have to be okay with that.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Three Minutes
He’d been drinking since noon. It was Sunday, the week before Christmas, and he’d flown into DC late last night; he was taking the entire week off and not completely sure he was looking forward to it. He was sitting in his office at the bar, drinking by himself.
George didn’t like coming home anymore because it was their home, not his. Fuck, it even still smelled like her. Her favorite cereal was still in the pantry and her fucking shampoo was in their shower—she was everywhere. Her closet was still mostly stocked with her clothes and shoes, minus the pile of stuff Millie had taken to her house in some sort of covert operation. It was torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.
George unscrewed the bottle of Jameson and poured it into a glass with a few ice cubes and looked at the picture he’d put on his desk a few weeks ago. It was them in Aspen on top of the mountain, both of them with enormous grins and Stella with his ring on her finger where it should be. Or not. He didn’t even know if that’s what he wanted anymore, if she was so ready to leave him. He leaned back in his chair and tried to figure out what he wanted. Again.
Smiling, he thought back to the girl he’d first met at the park when Brutus and Cooper were playing. There’d been something about her, the sparkle in her eye and her sexy southern accent drew him to her. Her ass hadn’t hurt his eyes either. She was a different person than she was that day, and she’d turned into an entirely different person since she first started coming to the bar. She went from a girl crushed by her circumstances to a woman that could move fucking mountains at will. He didn’t know what she was now, only that she thought she wasn’t good enough for him.
He pulled a piece of paper from his printer and took a gulp of his whiskey. Then he wrote.
He looked at the list, hoping for some moment of clarity. It gave him none.
Stella tried to talk to him every day in some way since she got back from the beach; she’d apologized time and time again and seemed to sincerely want to make it better. The problem was that he didn’t know if anything she said or did could erase what she’d done. Maybe he’d lost her one too many times. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. 6:12. Perfect. He’d walk to his mom’s for Sunday dinner. He’d been avoiding his family for weeks, not wanting to deal with them. George knew they knew because he’d been getting well-meaning messages and texts every day for the last 10 days. Nothing was ever a secret when you were dumped by the FBI Beauty, he thought bitterly. Walking out in the crisp evening air, he pulled his wool cap down and put his gloves on. His breath appeared in front of him and it made him think of her again, how she was a part of him and there was really no escaping it. The cloud of his breath went away. “Just like you, El, a part of me and then you just fucking disappear.” I must be drunk; that didn’t even make any fucking sense. He laughed and it tasted acidic on his lips.
His face was numb from the cold by the time he walked in his mother’s house. His family was sitting around the table and all heads turned toward him when he appeared in the dining room.
“Unca Wih!” Finn got up from the table and ran to him, giving his lower legs a bear hug.
“Hey, light of my life.” He lifted her with ease and embraced her.
“You stink,” she said and waved her hand around. Her curls bounced around her face and she squeezed her nose with her other hand.
George laughed. “Tell me how you really feel.” He put her down and walked to the head of the table to kiss her mother’s cheek and then slumped in his seat at the other end of the table.
His mother got up and went in the kitchen.
“Are you drunk?” Kelly hissed.
“Yes,” George stage-whispered.
“Are you okay, Will?” Kara asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.
He hadn’t talked to her since she dropped him off at his house when Stella left, but it didn’t stop her from checking in on him every day.
“We’ve all been trying to get in touch with you,” she continued.
He nodded. “I know.”
His mother came back from the kitchen with a plate and a glass of water for him. She silently began putting food on his plate.
“Thanks, Mom,” he mumbled.
“Well?” Jack asked. “Are you working or sulking?”
Kara, Kate and John glared at him.
George erupted in laughter. “Fuck you, Jack.”
Everyone gasped and Kara stood quickly. “Finn, come on, baby, let’s go in the other room. You’re done anyway.”
“You said a bad word!” Finn called over her shoulder as Kara herded her out of the dining room.
“Sorry, Finn!” Shit. He was too drunk to be here.
Kate stared at him, her grey-green eyes boring into him.
“Eat this.” His mother put a plate of food down in front of him and sank back into her seat. “Maybe you’ll be able to have a proper conversation after you eat.”
“I haven’t had a decent conversation in two weeks.” He began shoveling food in his mouth.
Kara came back in, her eyes full of concern. “Will, talk to us.” She put her hand on his left hand to comfort him.
“About what, Care Bear?” He put his fork down. “About how the love of my life walked away from me and completely crushed me? About how the media is having a circus with her life? With my life?”
“If that’s what you want to talk about.” Her voice was calm, trying to soothe him.
“I don’t want to talk about that.” He picked up his fork and continued eating.
“Are you working?” John asked.
“Yes. I’ve been in Florida and New Hampshire this week and the fucking primary is like a year away.”
“Watch your language in my house, young man,” his mother snapped.
He hung his head. He shouldn’t have come. This was a very bad idea.
“So you went right back to work after she left?” Kara interrogated.
“Yep.”
“Jessica said you missed several days,” Jack said.
George looked at his sister with a glare.
“Why the fuck are you talking to her?” George roared.
“Willston George Finnegan, if I have to tell you to watch your language one more time, you will finish your meal on the porch.”
“You know what, Mom? I’ve lost my fucking appetite.” He pushed himself from the table with such force the chair scraped the floor with a loud noise that filled the awkward silence. He stalked toward the door.
“Will, we warned you about her.” His mother’s voice froze him in his tracks. “I never liked her and you were going to marry her against my wishes. This is for the best.” Her lips were pursed as if she’d smelled something rancid.
Slowly, he turned to face his family and the anger he’d been keeping at bay for the past weeks exploded. “Oh really, Mother? This is for the best? That the love of my life ripped my fucking heart out? Better that I’m miserable than be associated with her? I’m walking around like a zombie because I don’t know if I want to get her back, but you think this is for the best? The woman who I asked to marry me, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, had someone murdered in front of her and instead of running to me for comfort, she fucking left me. You think that’s best for me?”