Can't Live in the Past

Christopher

Olin walked out of the room, saying nothing to Leila. I blew out a breath and slid off my stool. “Sorry,” I muttered.

“I walked in on something,” she said.

I nodded. “He had a bad night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said, knowing it wasn’t okay.

She went up on her toes and gave me a quick kiss. “I should probably go. You’ve got some stuff to handle.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I really am.”

“It’s okay, I’ll go.”

“It’s probably for the best,” I admitted. “I need to talk to him. I guess this is my fault. I should have told him. This kind of compounded things.”

She nodded. “It’s really okay. I get it. Take your time. Give me a call later if you can. If not, don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you. I’ll walk you out.”

I walked her outside, standing barefooted on the front stoop and watching her leave. Then I walked back in the house, knowing I was about to have a very bad day. I couldn’t envision any scenario where Olin would come downstairs and tell me everything was great.

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