She reached him as he was climbing into the car. “If you walk away from me now, you’re done,” she screamed. “Got it? You’re done. Gone. Out of here.”
“Got it,” he gritted, his gaze sliding over her contemptuously.
Sarah’s legs wobbled. Her insides flipped. He didn’t mean it. Couldn’t mean it. So she pushed harder. “And you’re not coming back. I don’t want you back. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“I hear you, babe. Loud and clear.” And then he slammed the door shut and started his car and pulled away, into the traffic without a single glance at her.
Sarah wrapped her arms around herself and clamped her jaw, teeth grinding together, to keep from screaming for Boone to come back.
* * *
He didn’t come home that night.
Sarah had told herself he wouldn’t, trying to prepare herself. But she’d hoped she was wrong. Hoped he’d prove her wrong. So she couldn’t sleep, waiting, listening for the sound of his car pulling through the gates.
She’d pretend she was asleep when he walked in. Keep her back to him, give him the cold shoulder. Punish him for hurting her. He should feel how bad she felt . . .
But there was no car. She lay awake in vain. Boone didn’t return that night. Didn’t show up in the morning. He didn’t call either.
Sarah walked around the house with the phone in her hand all morning, just in case.
She could call him. But she was so mad. And hurt. He hadn’t come home. He’d walked away from her. Drove away from her.
Sarah stopped loading the dishwasher and straightened, staring out the kitchen sink out to the garden with the gated pool and hot tub.
Maybe he wasn’t coming home. Maybe he was done. Maybe he meant what he had said.
Good.
Great.
Maybe now she could get on with her life.
She called him later that afternoon. He didn’t call back. She texted. He didn’t reply. She left angry messages. He ignored them. She left pleading messages. He ignored those, too. She went to bed, shattered, and spent the night wanting to die.
What had happened? What had she done? What had they done?
The next morning there was still no word from him. She sent him another text, asking him to please see her side, that it was confusing walking in, seeing him holding another woman’s hand.
He finally texted back, I do.
So we’re okay? she texted.
No.
Can you forgive me? she typed.
I am not Jeff. I am not cheating on you. And it’s really difficult having a mistake I made three years ago thrown in my face. Daily.
Sarah read this one, again and again. She exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself. So what do we do?
You either leave the past in the past, or we end this. Because I can’t live like this anymore. It’s not good for you. It’s not good for me. And it’s not good for our kids.
Does that mean we’re done?
He didn’t answer.
* * *
Three hours later, after dropping her kids at Kit’s house, Sarah showed up at the ballpark, talked to a security guard, telling him she was Boone Walker’s wife and there was an emergency. She showed him her driver’s license for proof of identity, adding that she had to see Boone immediately.
The security guard located team personnel, and the team personnel person escorted her downstairs, where she waited in an office for Boone to be found.
He practically broke down the door of the office racing to meet her. “The kids?” he demanded.
He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. He’d been lifting weights, working out. She shook her head. He closed the door.
“Your father?” Boone asked.
“No.” Sarah swallowed hard, thinking now maybe this wasn’t the right thing, coming here like this. But he wasn’t taking her calls. He wouldn’t see her. She couldn’t handle being shut out. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, between us, so I’ve come to find out what we’re supposed to do next.”
“Do next?” Boone repeated.
“Are we divorcing or separating, are you moving out or am I? Have you hired a lawyer yet . . . ?”
“They told me this was an emergency.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, Boone.”
His jaw tightened, his eyes flashed. “I ran in here thinking my kids were hurt, Sarah, or maybe dead.”
“You aren’t returning my calls. You didn’t come home—”
“Because I need space, Sarah! I need to figure out how to deal with you when you’re completely irrational. You’ve snapped—”
“I haven’t!”
“You went off on a woman in a restaurant because she was talking to me.”
Sarah glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “She’s really Meg’s friend?” she whispered, horrified that she’d been so caught up in her own rage and pain that she hadn’t even really looked at the other woman, too focused on Boone. From the time she’d met him, she’d only had eyes for Boone.