Page 1 of Grave Stone

PROLOGUE

“This will be the last time you choose that fucking club over me!” I screamed, throwing the nearly empty bottle of vodka at the door as he closed it behind him.

It wasn’t the first time he told me he had to go to work in the middle of the night, but it was going to be the last time. I hated him and that stupid club, and I was going to make him hate it for the rest of his life.

Opening another bottle, I took a few swigs before I got to work. I left a note for him on the bed before I drove to Grave Cremations and parked down the street so Stone wouldn’t see my car when he left. Then, I snuck inside and waited for his life to be ruined.

1

WHITNEY

“I’m here,” I told my best friend as I parked my car.

“Is he there?” Stevie asked.

“I don’t think so. I don’t see his car.”

She snorted. “You can’t miss it.” She wasn’t wrong. My ex-boyfriend drove a lime-green convertible Porsche.

“And there he is.”

“Go inside. Eat lunch. Get your shit. Text me when you’re on your way home. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Meeting Glenn was the last thing I wanted to do on the first day of my three-day vacation, but he claimed he had found some of my belongings I had left when I moved out. I knew I hadn’t forgotten anything. I spent the latter half of my childhood in foster care. After being forced to leave things behind time and time again as a child, I never did it as an adult. I also couldn’t stand the thought of unknowingly leaving something behind and willingly allowing Glenn to keep it. So, I agreed to meet the man who cheated on me for the last year of our three-year relationship for lunch.

“Whitney,” he said, approaching me with open arms. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” I quickly turned toward the front door and hurried inside to avoid his hug. “Table for two, please.”

“It’s a twenty-minute wait,” the hostess said. “Or we can seat you at the bar now.”

“The bar’s fine.” I’d eat outside in the southern summer heat if it meant spending less time with Glenn.

“How have you been?” Glenn asked once we were seated.

“I can’t complain. How about you?” I didn’t give a single fuck how he’d been, but I wanted my stuff, so I pretended to care.

“Doing great,” he said, nodding far too many times. “I just made partner at the firm, and I moved into a new place.”

“Sounds like you’re doing well.”

He continued to brag about himself until our food arrived and while we ate. The list of accomplishments he achieved during the year since our breakup would have been impressive if it were true, but I didn’t think any of it was. When I left him, he was having trouble at work and was struggling to pay his monthly bills. I highly doubted he had turned everything around in a year’s time.

He was blissfully interrupted when our server brought our check.

“So, you said you found some of my things?” I asked before he could start talking again.

“Yeah, they’re in my car. But listen, I was thinking, maybe it was a sign, you know? Me finding your stuff a year later.”

“A sign?”

“Yeah, a sign. We were always meant to be together.”

“I’m going to stop you right there. I appreciate you getting my stuff back to me, but we are not getting back together. Not now. Not ever.”

“I wasn’t asking you to get back together.”