“You don’t need all this? You don’t think I’m good enough for you?” His chuckle held absolutely no humor. “Then you’re fucking free to go,” he seethed, his face looming over hers.
“What that’s suppo—”
“Enjoy seeing what life would be like without me, Alexa.” In one fast movement, he yanked her to the side, pulled the door wide, and then pushed her through the opening onto the front porch, giving her a rough shove when he finally let go of her arm. Lucy did break free then, her back claws catching Alexa on the neck as she jumped.
Alexa was so shell-shocked that she barely felt it. “What in the world are you doing?”
“Nothing you didn’t ask for.” The door slammed in her face. A metallic click told her he’d thrown the dead bolt for good measure.
She stared at the door in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she yelled, pounding on the door with her fist. “Grant! Open the damn door.” She pounded again. “Grant!”
The porch light shut off, and then what lights had been on inside went out, too.
“Grant!” She pounded again. “You’re being a lunatic!”
She blinked at the darkness, at the craziness of what was happening to her life. Of what she’d let happen. Her fiancé had thrown her out of their house. Out of her own house. Over a motorcycle ride.
Alexa stepped back, the whole world feeling like a Tilt-A-Whirl. It wasn’t until the thunder cracked that she even realized it was still raining. The porch roof protected her from the deluge, though the air was humid with it. Lucy sat as far away from the front door as she could get while still being under the porch’s cover. Her tail flicked in agitation.
Alexa’s fiancé had thrown her out of the house in a storm. At ten o’clock at night. Because she’d gone on a motorcycle ride.
It was so ridiculously unbelievable that for a moment she was frozen standing there, no idea what to do, unable to think. Remembering her cell phone, she fished it from her pocket and immediately found and pressed Grant’s number. She hugged herself as she placed the cell to her ear and listened to the ringing.
Four rings. Voice mail. Thunder crashed above her. For a moment, lightning lit up the night. She hung up and redialed. Two and a half rings. Voice mail. Which meant he’d declined the call. Asshole.
Mind in a spiral, Alexa hugged herself and stared down at the floor. And was suddenly sucked back to Saturday afternoon in that fancy bathroom. Feeling sore and upset and used. Violated, if she really wanted to be honest. Why hadn’t she been honest before?
How long had she been hiding from the truth?
And now this.
“Oh, my God,” she said, pressing her palm against her forehead to ward off the headache blooming there.
Weeks’ worth—hell, maybe even months’ worth—of nagging doubts and quiet misgivings roared into her thoughts next. The way he always made her feel like she needed to apologize. The way he so often made her feel like she was crazy or irrational for asking a question or having a different point of view or even remembering something differently. How he so often made her feel guilty and like she wasn’t good enough, and how he’d left her feeling in that bathroom.
The horrible things he’d said to her in his office. The way he’d manhandled her. The fact that he’d locked her out of her own house to prove a point, to make her grovel to be taken back, to punish her.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head. Tears welled until the porch went blurry. “I can’t.” She took one step back from the door, then another. “I’m not doing this,” she said louder, though the rain swallowed up the words. The weight of everything crashed over her like a wave, and a sob broke free. “Fuck this,” she rasped. “I’m not begging to be taken back. I’m not standing out here waiting. I’m not . . . I’m not . . .” Her hands fisted. She bit back the tears, because she wasn’t crying over this asshole either. She’d already given him enough pieces of herself as it was.
It was time to start taking them back.
Starting with her dignity.
Trembling with shock and anger, Alexa crouched and held out her hand toward Lucy. Slowly, the cat came to her and sniffed at her fingers, and Alexa scooped the sphynx into her arms.
Alexa made for the steps, and then something occurred to her. She paused. Considered. And then turned back to the door. Juggling the cat, she tugged the diamond off her ring finger, too numb to know if the relief that washed through her was real or confusion resulting from this insanity. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t changing her mind.
She dropped the ring over the top of one of the pointed brass leaves on the pineapple door knocker.