Henry’s lips part, but he shuts them again, seemingly at a loss for words. I cross the space between us, taking his hand in mine as I feel something inside of me fracture. Something that’s been slowly cracking for a while. Or maybe it’s not breaking… Maybe what I’m feeling is it healing. “Coming here has made me realize how much our relationship really is more like a friends-with-benefits situation than a real relationship.”
“I’m not sleeping with anybody else, and I haven’t the entire time,” he replies, shaking his head like he can’t digest what I’m saying. “How is it friends with benefits?”
My eyes fill with moisture, the pressure behind them building. I don’t want to cry. I give myself a moment to breathe before I say, “I’m only interesting to you when it’s convenient for you. This”—I point between us—“isn’t a real give-and-take relationship. That’s why it was so easy for you to ignore me when I came here.”
A tear falls. And then another. Henry’s features have softened, but he remains quiet.
“I think subconsciously when I decided to come here, I hoped you’d realize in my absence how much you needed me, but that’s not the case.” Wiping my cheek with the sleeve of my jacket, I clear my throat, wanting what I say next to come out strong and clear. “It’s not your fault, and it’s not mine either. Ourexpectations were different about what this was and what we wanted out of it. I’m seeing that now, and I’m coming to terms with it. Coming to terms with how it won’t change—it can’t—because I can’t ask you to be any different in the same way you can’t ask that of me. But I want more, Henry. I want more out of my partner, out of a relationship, and you can’t give that to me, and that’s okay.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was a knee-jerk reaction, not because he truly disagrees with what I’m saying. No matter how self-assured you are, and no matter how independent you are, you don’t go days at a time without talking to your partner who you’ve been with for years, the one you supposedly love. That’s not healthy, and it should’ve been a dead giveaway of a problem. Henry knows it; I know it. This is a shitty time for me to decide to do this, but what’s done is done. I can’t take it back, especially not when it feels like a thousand pounds has been lifted off my shoulders.
The silence stretches on, but in it is a sense of clarity.
“Why don’t you book a flight, and I can drive you to the house to grab your stuff, then take you to the airport,” I offer when he doesn’t say anything.
“Jesus Christ.” Henry breathes out a laugh through his nose. “I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours, and we’re already breaking up.”
A pang of sadness fills me.
“I’m going to head back up to my aunt’s room.” I point a thumb in the direction of the hospital. “Come back in when you get that settled, okay?”
He nods, green eyes meeting mine, and it’s like understanding flows between us. Putting one foot in front of the other, I walk back into the hospital, and go up to my aunt’s room. She’s still sleeping, but I think that’s to be expected. It’s getting late, so I’m not sure if she’ll wake up at all tonight.
This entire day took a turn in a way I never saw coming…in more ways than one, and I don’t know how to feel about it all. But the one thing I do know with certainty is that I did the right thing. It’s something that I probably should’ve done a while ago, but at least it’s done now.
11
COPE MURPHY
Me: Happy birthday, city boy!
Xander: Thank you! :)
Me: Doing anything fun today?
Hitting send, I shove the phone into my pocket before heading into the diner where I’m meeting Shooter for lunch. It’s been pouring rain all morning, and I’m drenched by the time I reach the front door to the establishment. I wipe my shoes off on the mat that’s sitting on the other side, gaze meeting Ginny’s, the server who works here.
“Morning, Ginny.”
“Good morning, Cope,” she greets back, a warm smile sliding onto her face. “Shooter’s already in the back waiting for you.”
Me, Shooter, and a group of our friends come here weekly for lunch. It’s something we’ve done for years now. But that’s not until later on this week. Today, it’s just Shooter and I. Mostly because I need to get some shit off my chest, and I know he’d never judge me or make me feel like an idiot. Not that our other friends would, but out of everyone, he and I are the closest.
He spots me as soon as I stroll through the back. “’Bout time you got here, man.”
“Says the one who’s notoriously late,” I tease as I take a seat across from him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies dryly, with a shrug and a smirk.
Ginny drops off a glass of ice water and a Coke for me before taking our order. We come here so often, we typically always get the same thing every time, and today is no exception.
“Where’s Sterling?” I ask Shooter as Ginny steps away.
“He went with Conrad to Piston to pick up a couple horses.”
Shooter’s boyfriend, Sterling, is another bronc rider. It was his first pro season this year, and he fucking killed it. He moved here from Texas at the start of the season, and has been staying at the ranch ever since. He helps Conrad out a lot with the chores that need to be done there.
I pull out my phone, checking to see if Xander responded to me, and my stomach tightens when I see nothing waiting for me. Blowing out a breath, I decide to get it over with already. I came here wanting to get all this shit off my chest. If there’s anybody who would never judge me, it’s Shooter. After I put my phone away, I meet his gaze from across the table.
