My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)

The cone of silence.

I’ve been here before. The voices are muffled; the thoughts are magnified.

But it’s the regrets that are overwhelming.

I sit in my dark living room, no television, no lights. Just me and my shiny conscience, my constant dark friend.

Blake left three days ago for New York. Sneaked out under the veil of darkness and didn’t even say goodbye to our friends on the street.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The sound of my clock in the distance echoes, chipping at the bones holding me together. The more time that passes without him, the stronger he gets without me.

I’m having some kind of existential crisis.

Old wounds have opened back up, and the infection is beginning to fester, poisoning the life out of me breath by breath.

There are so many questions that he raised, and deep down I’m also wondering about the answers.

Why did I sign that contract when I knew it was wrong?

Why did I keep that flower card?

Why would I even want a house that reminds me of John and of our life together?

And more than that, why was the first man I slept with a dear friend?

Was I ready for love, or was I simply seeking comfort in the arms of another?

Physical contact and a safe place to fall.

I was in a dark place when my marriage broke up, but that place seems like a children’s picnic ground compared to where I am now.

I picture my beautiful Blake all alone in New York, and my heart breaks.

He deserved so much better than what I offered.

I haven’t tried to call him again; I need to get myself together.

I’m no good to anybody like this, least of all to someone I care so deeply for.

I’m quite the expert now.

I should write a book of heartbreak: Memoirs of the Battle-Scarred Wife.

I walk into the restaurant with my head held high.

Gone is the worried woman who was afraid of her own shadow.

Today . . . I’m here for blood.

I see John sitting at the table, and I walk over.

“Hi.” He smiles all sexy-like. He stands to kiss my cheek, and I push him back into his chair.

“Don’t touch me.”

He frowns up at me. For the first time, he seems confused as I sit down.

“How are you?”

“I’m great.” I pull out the contract from my bag and tear it in two.

“What are you doing?” He frowns.

“Divorcing you.”

“You can’t.”

“I filed this morning.”

“I’ll take the house.”

I look him straight in the eye. “Nothing on earth is worth being tied to a loser like you.”

His face falls.

“This is your first and last warning, John. Stay the fuck away from me, or I’ll have a restraining order put on you.”

He sits back in annoyance. “You don’t mean that.”

“Try me.”

His eyes hold mine. “You’re not thinking straight.”

I smile. The audacity of this pitiful man.

So pathetically weak.

“For the first time in my life, I’m seeing things with crystal-clear clarity. You are the biggest regret of my life, and I’m embarrassed to even know you.”

His face falls.

“I hope you rot in hell.” I stand.

“Rebecca,” he stammers, as if sensing that I’m completely done. “I love you.”

“Goodbye, John.”

I walk out of the restaurant and smile as I hit the fresh air.

That felt good.

Blake

The sirens echo in the distance. Has there ever been a more iconic New York sound?

I look around my new apartment. So different from home.

With such short notice, I had to take whatever furnished apartment that I could find. Thankfully I could organize another doctor to stand in for me back home and take care of things. It wasn’t urgent that I come here immediately—I don’t start at the new hospital for two weeks—but I just had to get out of Kingston Lane.

I couldn’t be there anymore.

Even the thought of one more day was unbearable.

My heart is heavy and painful in my chest, and with the way that I feel right now, I’m not sure if I’ll ever recover.

Or if I even want to.

Because if I lose this feeling, then there will be nothing left of us. She’ll just become someone that I used to know.

Another slot in the memory bank that will weaken over time.

I sip my red wine and slowly turn the glass by the stem to look over the rich color.

It’s been eight days since I last saw Rebecca, and like a man starved for air, I can feel myself dying without her love.

Marriage is just a piece of paper.

The biggest disappointment was learning that I didn’t even know her.

Not really, anyway.

I may have gotten around in my former life, but deep down I wanted the happily ever after . . . with someone who . . .

Maybe this is my punishment for being so insensitive to all the women I dated over the years.

Karma.

I swallow the lump in my throat, and it hurts all the way down.

I close my eyes and take a long, steadying breath; I need to stop wallowing in this self-pity.

It isn’t healthy to be acting like this.

Tomorrow, I’m going to go back to the gym. I’m going to eat healthy. My eyes linger on the deep-plum liquid in my glass. I’m going to stop fucking drinking all the time.

I’ll be okay.

I take a big gulp of my wine and slosh it around in my mouth, and like the masochist that I am, I hit play on Spotify. I’ve been listening to this song on repeat, again and again.

I tell myself it’s to make me feel better, but the reality is that I want to keep being sad. Because sad is all I have left of her, and I’ll hang on to anything that I can.

The thought of never having her in my arms again is . . . I close my eyes and see Rebecca’s beautiful smile.

“Lovely” by Billie Eilish echoes through the speakers.

The familiar tone of the piano brings with it a comforting sense of melancholy.

Isn’t she lovely . . .

Yes . . . yes, she was.

Three weeks later

No conversation, no love . . . no contact.

I sit in the back of a yellow cab on my way to work and stare out the window.

At least when she continually called me in that first week, it appeared that she cared.

Did I mean that little to her that she gave up so easy? . . . She didn’t even fight it.

Or for me . . .

Her silence is the confirmation that my deepest fear was true.

She still loves him. She’ll always love him.

I get a vision of the two of us rolling around in the sheets, and my stomach drops.

Nothing more than the rebound guy.

I blow out a deep, deflated breath. I feel like fucking shit.

I’ve never been so low.

The boys arrive tonight, and I can’t wait to see them. A weekend on the town with my two best friends is exactly what I need.

“That will be twenty-two dollars,” the bored cabdriver tells me. I glance up. I didn’t even realize that the car stopped. I dig out my cash and pay him. “Thank you.” I get out of the cab and slam the door.

Fuck this.

I miss my Porsche.

“Hey.” Henley pulls me into a hug. “I missed your ugly face.”

I laugh and hug him back. “Wish I could say the same.” I turn to Antony and hug him next.

“I’m taking you home with us,” he tells me. “This fucking sucks.”

I smile into his shoulder, grateful for his friendship and missing everything about it.

“How was the flight?” I ask.

“Long.”

“I had a fucking baby sitting next to me,” Antony grumbles. “Bastard cried for the entire six hours. I nearly stuck my sock in its mouth.”

“Why do you hate kids so much?” Henley rolls his eyes.

“I just do.” He curls his lip. “I’m not having any; it’s already decided. Screw that shit.”

I laugh. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, where we going?”

“Out.”

“Can I get you any dessert?” the waitress asks.

I hold my hands up. “I’m good.”

Henley cuts me off as he opens the menu. “No, you’re not. He will have the . . .” He peruses the choices. “Tiramisu.”

“Sounds good. Make that two,” Ant chimes in.

The waitress leaves us alone, and my eyes go to Henley. “What’s with ordering my food tonight? I’ve never eaten so much.”

“You’ve lost weight.”

“What?” I glance down at myself. “No, I haven’t.”

“Ant, has he lost weight?” Henley asks.

“Yeah.”

“You think?” I pat my stomach.

“Ten pounds at least.”

“Come off it,” I scoff.

“Have you been eating?” he asks.

“Yes,” I lie.

My appetite has died, along with my heart.

“I’ve taken up running.” Not a lie. I actually have been running.

“Where do you run?”

“Around Central Park each morning.”

“So . . . how’s New York?”

“It’s . . .” I shrug. “Okay.”

“Just come home, man,” Antony says. “You belong at home with us.”

“Now, now.” Henley holds his hand up. “He hasn’t even settled in yet. Give it time.”

My eyes hold his. The thing with Henley is, it’s what he doesn’t say that has meaning. His messages are delivered in between the sentences.

“How’s everything at home?”

“By everything . . . you mean Rebecca?” Henley asks.

I sip my beer and shrug. “I guess.”

“She’s . . .” His eyes flick to Antony. “How’s Rebecca?”

“She’s not doing great,” Antony replies. “Lost a lot of weight and . . .” His voice trails off.

My heart sinks. “Are you checking in on her?”

“She’s fine,” Henley snaps. “The girls are taking care of her.”

I nod as my mind goes into overdrive. “Has she . . .”

“Has she said anything?” He finishes my sentence.

I nod.

“She told Juliet that you deserve better.” His eyes hold mine as he gives me a silent message.

“Any sign of John?”

“I’ll kick his ass if he steps foot on our street,” Antony huffs.

“Has she been going out?” I ask.

“No.” Henley sips his beer. “Didn’t even go to work for a couple of weeks.”

“She didn’t?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Apparently she’s started seeing a therapist.”

Oh . . .

“You did the right thing by coming here,” Henley says matter-of-factly.

“Why do you say that?”

“Rebecca’s got a lot of baggage.”

I nod as a sinking feeling creeps back in.

“I still think that one day, you two will end up together.” Antony sighs.

“We won’t.” I shake my head. “She had her chance.”

“I don’t believe this is all her fault,” Henley fires back.

“So it’s mine?” I point to my chest.

“Not at all. The timing’s not right, that’s all.”

“The timing is never going to be right for us.” I sip my beer. “She made sure of that, and why the fuck are you defending her all of a sudden?”

“Because she’s suffering, and I feel sorry for her . . . but I did warn you.”

“When did you warn me?” I scoff.

“All along I told you that she wasn’t ready. Remember, hurt people hurt people.”

“What was that bullshit, anyway?” I roll my eyes. “Why didn’t you just speak English and spell it out for me? It would have saved me a whole lot of heartbreak. It goes like this: Listen, Blake, Rebecca is still in love with her ex, so you should steer fucking clear of her at all costs.”

“Believe me, I tried,” Henley fires back.

“She is not in love with John,” Antony snaps, disgusted. “Are you crazy?”

“All I know is that she’s not in love with me.”

“You know that’s not true,” Henley says. “She’s just sorting through some shit.”

“I don’t care, anyway.” I shrug. “I’m getting back on the dating scene. Rebecca who?”

Henley winks and clinks his beer with mine. “Attaboy.”

Rebecca

I lie on the couch and scroll through my phone. My finger hovers over the name.

Blake.

It’s been seventeen weeks since I spoke to my best friend. And I want to tell him all about the things I’m doing to try and get better.

All the silent tears that fall.

Can he feel my love from here?

I go to yoga and meditation and therapy, and I’m keeping a journal, and Daisy and I walk twice a day . . . and . . .

I miss him.

More than I’ve ever missed anything.

I have this deep ache in my heart that won’t go away, and I fear that I’ve ruined my life forever. For how can I ever feel whole again if I don’t have him by my side?

But then the coin flips, and I feel insecurity creep in, and I know that I can’t go back to that place.

Not now, not ever.

So I’ll stay in my lonely bubble for one.

It’s safe here.

My finger hovers over his name . . . What if I messaged him just to say hi?

Would he answer?

I throw my phone onto the floor to rid myself of temptation and let out a deep, deflated breath as I hold up the remote to the television.

Netflix, my constant companion.

Blake

The light shines through the window, and I squint as I try to get my bearings.

Hazy images of last night dance through my mind, and I look over at the bedside table to see two wineglasses, one with the red lipstick still on it.

Fuck.

My stomach turns, and I pick up my phone and scroll through my numbers. My finger lingers over the name Rebecca.

I have to hear her voice . . .

Just once.

I can’t stand it one day longer.

If I can just hear her voice . . . then . . .

I stare at her name, and I desperately want to press it.

Could I . . .

No.

I get up in a rush and tear the sheets off the bed in disgust. I march to the laundry room and throw everything in the washer and fill it with disinfectant.

Every time is the same.

I get into the shower, and I soap up and scrub my skin with vigor until it’s red and raw. I scrub and scrub and scrub.

I feel dirty, so fucking dirty.

The necessary evil is about to fucking kill me.

Why does everything feel so wrong now?

Trapped in purgatory with no way out, I slide down the tiles and sit on the floor.

The hot water falls over me like a dark blanket.

Physically in New York, emotionally back on Kingston Lane.

Mentally fucked wherever I go.

Seven months later

“Yeah, and then at halftime, they got the goal.” I push through the door of the bar; it’s Friday night, and I’m having drinks with some colleagues from work.

New York has grown on me; work is amazing, and I’ve made some great friends.

Things are better . . . I am better.

“So what, the ref was at fault?” Andrew asks.

“Absolutely.” I roll my eyes. “And then to top it all off, he missed the shot.” We wait at the concierge area. “Hello, table for four, please,” I tell the waiter.

“That will be a few minutes. You can take a seat at the bar while you wait, if you like.”

“Sure thing.” We make our way through as we keep discussing the game in great detail and take a seat at the huge, horseshoe-shaped bar.

“Four Heinekens, please,” Stuart tells the bartender.

We keep chatting and get our beers, and eventually the waiter comes over. “Your table is ready, sir.”

“Thanks.” I stand, and as I go to turn, I see a familiar face at the opposite side of the room. Wearing a tight red dress with her hair down and curled, she’s sitting at the bar.

Rebecca.

She smiles softly, and before I can stop myself, I’m walking over to her.

“Hi, Blake.” She smiles up at me.

“Hi.” I frown.

“You look good.” She smiles as her eyes drop down to my toes and back up to my face.

She seems different and yet so familiar.

I stare at her like I’ve just seen a ghost. “What . . . what . . .” I glance over to my friends and then back at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”