Free LATCH by LK Collins Page B

what is best for me.”
    “I’m just trying to work on things between us and being apart for almost a week isn’t going to do that.”
    “Is that really what you want, or do you just want to keep an eye on me?” I ask frustrated. My heart is racing. I cannot believe that he would even consider asking me to come with him. He doesn’t want me to travel with him so we can work on things. I know Darrell. It’s so he can control me, keep me far away from Latch, have me under his eye at all times, just like him keeping me prisoner of this home has done. He knows just as much as I do that I’d barely see him if I went.
    “Please calm down and let me explain.” His words are exasperating, and staying calm is the last thing that I want to do right now. “Of course it’s what I want.”
    “We can barely be around each other now. Being on the road isn’t going to fix anything. You said so yourself that your coaches want to meet with you about your job. What if you get cut?”
    “Then I’ll have you there.”
    “Darrell, you haven’t depended on me for quite some time. You’ll be fine to come back here alone, if you get cut. Plus, if we can’t learn to trust one another now, then what is the point of this marriage?”
    He looks down and nods, agreeing with me. He knows I am right. “So you aren’t going to see that guy while I’m gone?”
    I chuckle and walk away from him. “Are you going to fuck any roadies?”

Walking to the Metro Café, I’m anxious, my stomach is a ball of nerves, and I don’t know how to settle it. I haven’t heard back from Abby, but I’m following my gut. I have a feeling that she’ll show up, she won’t let me down.
    My phone buzzes giving me hope it’s her, but it’s just another client, like the ten others that want to see me today. I’m not sure why there are so many on a Tuesday morning, or what’s going on, but it’s like all the ladies in New York are in heat all at once.
    Walking into the Metro, I order Abby’s favorite salad and a pasta bowl for me. I’ve brought this to her house before, so I know just how she likes it, extra olives, and the dressing on the side. As the cashier hands me the red card with a large number on it, I look around for somewhere private to sit and decide on a table in the back corner of the restaurant where I can still see the front door.
    Sitting down, I pop the card in the holder, slide it to the edge of the table and pull my phone out. It’s 4:02; she should be here any minute.
    Nervously, I strum my fingers against the table. Sitting and waiting, the time ticks by slowly. I keep checking the door every time someone comes in, but it’s not her. A worker sets our food down, and staring at the empty seat across from me, I begin to worry for the first time that maybe she’s not going to show up.
    Maybe it was naïve of me to think without a doubt that she’d meet me, but somehow I did. Then it happens, the moment that I have been dreading. My phone vibrates with a message from her, Latch, I can’t…I’m really sorry.
    The fuck she can’t. I dial her number. It rings a few times and then goes to voicemail.
    Going into her text, I respond to the message, We need to talk! Abby, I’m not fucking joking!
    “Dammit,” I shout in anger and smack the bowls of food across the restaurant. Salad and pasta go flying, the marinara sauce hits the wall and slowly drips down, like the blood of my heart being torn from my chest.
    This is why I have my fucking rules! Had I followed them and never gotten involved with her in the first damn place, none of this would have happened. All eyes are on me as I storm out of the Café. On a mission and angry, I’m not sure where I’m headed, but I let my feet take me where they want, plowing through the streets of New York hitting people with my shoulders if they get in the way.
    Why? Why can’t she come, or call me, or text me back? Why won’t she give me the fucking time of day?
    Nothing stops me as I