Whipped (Hitched, #2)

We're a few hours outside of Las Vegas when I have one question left, and I think I know the answer, but I'm not sure. And then the steering wheel jerks in my hand, and I nearly drive the car into the ditch on the side of the road. "What the fuck?"

I slow down and pull over, narrowly avoiding an accident with the side railing. Once parked, we get out to assess the damage. A blown left front tire.

"Ah man, that was my favorite tire," I say, kicking it.

Lachlan laughs. "You have a favorite tire on your car?"

"Yes, doesn't everyone?"

He just shakes his head and pops my trunk. "You got a spare in here?"

"Of course," I say. "I even know how to change it myself."

"I like a girl who can take care of herself." He looks me up and down, drawing my attention to my high heels, short skirt and silk blouse. "But are you sure you want to change it in that outfit? Because I'm happy to do it."

I prop a hand on my hip and consider my options. Play the damsel in distress and let my boyfriend change the tire, or ruin my outfit proving I can handle it all myself. This is actually a hard choice for me. I don't like depending on anyone else for things. It's why I learned how to change and check my oil, change my tire and assess minor engine repairs. I know a lot about this car, and while I'm not a mechanic, I know enough to not be scammed by one. But relationships can't survive with one person trying to be everything all the time—not to mention, neither would this outfit. I'm learning that with Lachlan. Sometimes we have to soften, to allow our partner to step in and lead, help, support. So I do that, and my favorite red heels thank me as Lach pulls out the tire and gets to work.

My phone bings, and I slide into the passenger seat and check it. It's a text from Zoe and it's not good.



He's being such a douchebag, I can't even. What do I do? Help!



What's he done this time? I type back, groaning inwardly.



He insists we can't have sex until we get married. He says his priest had a long talk with him and that I'm to blame for his unhappiness because I'm forcing him to live in sin by not marrying him.



"Everything okay?" Lachlan asks from the front of the car.

"Man trouble," I say through the open door.

"Zoe's guy again?"

"Who else?" Lachlan had heard enough of our conversations to know all about Zoe and her emotionally-stunted lover.

"What's he done this time?" he asks.

I fill him in and he makes a noise that is not very pleasant. "Tell her that if this guy can't take responsibility for his own choices, he's not a real man and doesn't deserve her."

I text her Lachlan's advice and wait. Her response makes me laugh.



That man of yours, does he have a brother?



LOL No. But we can definitely find you something better than this guy. Ask yourself, do you want to live with someone who blames you for his alleged sins instead of taking responsibility himself?



There's a long pause before she replies.



No. It makes me feel like shit. Like I'm a horrible person.



I look outside at Lachlan as he pulls the old tire off and sticks the spare tire on. I never feel like shit with him. He always makes me feel special, cared for, considered. Zoe deserves this. She deserves the best out there. I've kept my silence for months now, knowing it's her decision, but I can't hold my tongue any longer.



Dump him. He doesn't deserve you. And he'll never change.



Her response comes fast.



People can change.



"She says people can change," I tell Lach.

"Nope. I mean, sure, they can. But how long has she been with this guy?"

"A few years."

"And has he changed?"

"No."

"There you have it."

I text these questions to Zoe and she replies with a sad face crying emoticon.



We're yelling at each other now. I told him he's had plenty of time to figure his shit out and I'm done waiting for him to grow up. He said this would all be fixed if I'd marry him.



I shake my head and relay the new info to Lachlan.

He sighs. "The only thing marrying him would accomplish is putting her in a more permanent set of miserable circumstances."

I text that to her with my own thoughts.



His neurosis, his showers after sex, his chronic Catholic guilt taken to extremes, his blaming of you for his own shit, none of that will change by putting a ring on your finger. You have to decide if you want to be with this man BASED ON WHO HE IS RIGHT NOW. Do you want this man in front of you? AS HE IS.



Long pause. I wait nervously for her reply. Have I pushed too far? Is she freaking out? I wish I was there and could see her face to face and talk through this. But she's a grown woman, and I know she's strong enough to face this.



No. I don't want this. I'm done.



She doesn't text again for another several minutes, and Lachlan is joining me at the car, having just finished putting away the trashed tire and tools, when her next text comes.



It's done. I've kicked him out and invited Ben & Jerry to come spend the weekend with me. What have I done?