Page 143 of The Pact
Alie’s not wrong. Yes, I’m tired and get overwhelmed sometimes. And Saint and the kids are still grieving, but in quieter ways.
But I guess we’re all … happy. Which feels strange to say.
Instead of answering her, I squeeze her gently.
“I’ll call you later.” I open the door. “Love you.”
“Love you more, Pres.”
It’s four o’clock by the time I leave. The ride to my apartment isn’t long, but it feels strange to be going in the opposite direction. Like I’m going backward or something. Or like I’m returning to a place that still belongs to me on paper, but no longer matches the shape of my life.
The building looks the same. My key still works.
Because of course it does.
Inside, everything is exactly like I left it in January after I packed up and went to Saint. Anything else I’ve needed, I just bought.
There’s still my coffee mug from that morning in the dish rack. A stack of medical journals on the side table. My bed is made. My closet, half open from my rushing. It looks like my life was put on pause.
I haven’t slept in my own bed in months.Months.
Somewhere along the way, needing to be there for Saint and the kids turned into choosing to be there.
I walk slowly into the bedroom and straight to the closet. I find one of my Louis Vuitton suitcases, open it, and set it on thefloor. I pull out warmer-weather clothes—blouses, shorts, lighter pants, and a pair of sandals.
I’m going through the motions, but my mind is on Saint.
The way he reaches for me in his sleep.
And the sound of Remy knocking on the door early on Saturday mornings.
Rhyan busting in without knocking because she has no boundaries.
I move to the bathroom next, but realize there’s nothing I need in here. My toothbrush already sits beside Saint’s. My shampoos and soaps are in his shower. The small amount of makeup I wear is in a drawer I’ve claimed as my own.
This isn’t my home anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while. I look around the room and appreciate the beauty of it. It’s clean, organized, and … mine. But I feel like a stranger in my own home.
My life is at Saint’s now.
I press a hand to my chest.
What did it mean that I have built my whole adult life around independence, and now the place I want to be most is in a house full of people who need me?
Pretty sure I know the answer, but I’m not sure I can say it.
Because then it would be real. And real means vulnerable. It means that if something goes wrong, I have more to lose than I’ve ever allowed myself before.
I look at my ring and smile, thinking about our courthouse wedding and the vows and the pact and … the foundation.
Maybe this is it. Standing in my old life and realizing I’ve already left it.
Not because Saint asked me to. But because my heart has moved.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Saint
It’s the last day of school in the first week of June. I’m waiting outside, leaning against my car, chatting with some of my teammates who also have kids here about Organized Team Activities and getting prepared for camp. Presley and I sent out an announcement to the team about our marriage, and everyone seems to be happy for us, which we appreciate, but they don’t know all the circumstances. We’ll keep that private.
