She frowns at the black car parked next to his truck, but figures that could be the car he drives when he’s not working. She parks in front of the house and stares at it for a long time, trying to work up the nerve to open her car door. Swallowing hard, she takes in a deep breath and finally opens it. She wipes her sweaty hands on her jeans as she walks towards his front door.
Myra closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath and then blows it out before she knocks. When she doesn’t get an answer, she knocks again. Finally, the door slowly opens.
Her eyebrows pull together sharply as an incredibly gorgeous woman stands before her even more stunning than Dylan’s sister-in-law. Myra’s mouth drops open when she recognizes one of Dylan’s flannel shirts on the stranger. The top several buttons are open and she can see the edges of a lacy red bra. The supermodel yawns and stretches, causing Dylan’s shirt to hike up and show off her lean, long tanned legs.
“Yes?” the beautiful woman asks, as she muffles another yawn with the back of her hand.
Myra’s stomach churns with nausea, but she won’t let herself jump to conclusions like she did with his sister-in-law. This very well could be another sister-in-law or relative. He did have a large family.
Myra clears her throat. “Is Dylan home?”
“He’s asleep.”
“I need to talk to him.”
The model stretches again. “Can you come back? He didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Myra’s stomach jolts. She swallows hard. “It’s important…”
“Who are you?” the woman asks, her perfectly-arched eyebrows scrunching together as she eyes Myra from head to toe.
“I’m Myra, I…” She frowns as she tries to figure out how to introduce herself: as a friend? A client? A one-night stand? A mistake? She clears her throat again. “He’s been doing work on my house…”
The supermodel’s face immediately relaxes. “Oh, okay,” she says with a small smile. “I’ll let him know you stopped by.”
Myra stares at her for a moment. She coughs and clears her throat again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “And you are?”
“Oh, sorry I’m being so rude. I just woke up,” the supermodel says, laughing softly. “I’m Sabrina. His wife.”
Myra gasps as her heart thunders in her ears. Her eyes widen as her gaze drops to a massive cluster of platinum and diamonds glistening ominously at her from the woman’s left ring finger. Sabrina’s finger. Sabrina. His
wife
.
Myra’s stomach rolls; she feels faint. She can’t breathe. “Wife?” she says with a heavy breath, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Technically ex-
wife, but we're working on that,
”
Sabrina says with a small smile as she stares down at the ring on her finger.
Myra gulps for air as she swallows down the urge to be sick. She has to get out of here. She has to get away. Her eyes stay fixated on that ring as she stumbles backwards down the stairs. She turns and runs towards her car. When she hears the door close behind her, she startles as tears begin to burn hot in her eyes.
Her hands shake as she grasps the steering wheel. How could he not tell her he was married? How could he have an ex-wife – soon-to-be-wife again – and do all those things he did last night? How could he make her feel the way he did? Make love to her. Make her care for him. What kind of a man would do all of those things knowing he had
her
waiting on him at home?
She bends forward, grasping her stomach as she blows out heavy breaths. The more she thinks about it, the clearer things become. This has to be the big secret he’s been hiding from her. He ran out on her yesterday morning because he had his beautiful
wife
waiting for him at home. He used her for his pleasure and then ran. He’s a cheating lowlife just like Trent. She feels so stupid for telling him what happened with Trent. He probably laughed to himself over that since he had plans to do the exact same thing.
Her face drops into her hands as she sobs. But she sits up and quickly wipes her eyes on her sleeve because she knows she can’t stay here in front of his house crying over him when his wife probably just slipped into bed and curled up next to him – he does like to cuddle. That thought brings on another round of sobs.
Sniffling, she looks back at the house. Every instinct tells her to run. Running she can do well. She just needs to leave this stupid town and that broken down house. She has nothing tying her here. Maybe she could go back to Philly. That way she could be near Susie again. Staring at Dylan’s house, she starts the engine.
But another, smaller part of her tells her not to run. It tells her to stand up for herself and confront him like she should have with Trent. Confront Dylan and tell him that he can’t treat her like that.
She picks up the hem of her sweatshirt and scrubs it roughly across her eyes. Slouching in her seat, she chews her thumbnail as she stares at the front door, still trying to decide what to do.
If she confronts him and he did get back with his ex, he’ll just deny that anything happened between them anyway, making her look foolish. And it will break her heart even more.
She feels so weak. She doesn’t have the strength to face him. What good will it do anyway?
Quickly wiping her eyes again, her hand reaches for the gearshift, her foot lightly touching the brake pedal. She puts the car in drive, her decision made.
Run.
###
Will Myra run back to Philly? Find out in the upcoming sequel
Color of Forgiveness.