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Turning to leave, Madison reaches to grab my arm, but I sidestep her. “No. No, I need to get out of here. I need to think.”
I can’t even think of facing her. She’s a stranger to me, and I can’t look in her eyes and face the reality that the woman I love, the woman I vowed to win back and have busted my ass to remind why we fell in love in the first place, isn’t the person I thought she was.
“Ridley, please stop. I get you need time to think, but please don’t run. Stay here. I’ll give you all the space you need butplease,don’t leave.”
I stop. The quiver in her voice when she asks me not to leave is enough to force me to stay where I am. It only takes me a minute to realize that I don’twantto leave.
“Why?” I shout. “Give me one good reason as to why I should stay.”
“Because there are some things I need to say to you,” she says, like it’s that easy. She’s caught up with me at the truck as a flash through the sky and a loud crack of thunder silences the two of us.
The sound stops me, and I look at her, throwing my hands in the air. Racing through thoughts, trying to wrap my mind around my own hurt, I ask, “Why? Wanna make me feel like shit some more? Or wait, maybe you could tell me that baby’s not mine.” I motion to her stomach. “Is that what you want to explain?”
“Damn it, Ridley, please.” She breaths out deeply, frustration clear on her face. “Don’t walk away. I just want to talk to you calmly.”
Can you believe her? This is just crazy shit, right?
“You can’t stand here and tell me you fucking filed for divorce to get my attention. Who fucking does that, Madison? That’s some serious bullshit. You’re not a kid anymore. That’s not how married people communicate. It doesn’t work that way, Madison.”
“Why can’t I explain?” She sounds confused, and I want to laugh in her face. Unbelievable.
My stomach lurches and I feel like we’re back in that hotel lobby, my confusion and sadness twisting into more anger and resentment.
“You know what, fuck you!” I reach for the handle of my truck, hoping she will finally leave me alone and give up just like I did.
Of course she doesn’t and puts her hand over mine, and I’m pissed to no end. I face her, my eyes fixated on hers. “When did you find out you were pregnant? Was that part of your plan too? Get pregnant so you could take more of my money in the divorce?”
Madison groans as if hearing my words makes her sick to her stomach. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t intend on getting pregnant but apparently that morning in the shower, well, that’s when it happened,” she says, looking like she’s really going to vomit. “I found out a few days before we left for Sedona. That’s why I agreed to go with you despite not wanting to. I knew we needed to work on things.”
Agreed to go with me? I don’t remember it going down like that. It was more along the lines of me begging and her agreeing because Callan was standing next to us, but whatever.
By the look on her face, which is pale, she really looks like she’s going to vomit now. I hope she throws up. I hoped all of this has made her physically sick because maybe it’s a fraction of what I’ve been going through these last few days knowing my marriage to a woman I loved more than life itself was over.
Looking up at her, I have to ask, “Then why didn’t youtryin Sedona? Why did you go to lunch with Thomas and blow me off if you’re pregnant with my baby and wanting to make it work? Do you have any idea howIfeel right now?”
She starts crying, slow tears at first but I know what’s coming. “I don’t know—”
“Shut up.” I’m so frustrated with the same bullshit answers. “Just stop talking.”
Twenty-One
Forgiveness works both ways
We stand there staringat one another. She’s afraid to speak, probably since I just told her to shut up and I’m terrified to say anything else.
Truth is, I don’t want to hurt her. Drawing in a heavy breath, I let it out slowly and shake my head. Madison attempts to reach for my hand, her footing off somehow and slips on the wet concrete.
I catch her, my hands supporting under her elbows as she studies her footing knowing damn well we shouldn’t be standing outside in a thunderstorm. “Go inside the house, I’ll follow you.”
Jesus, don’t look at me like that. No, I’m not going to murder her. I don’t have murder in me and despite this anger and pain taking over, I still love Madison. Unfortunately, that will never ever go away. I say unfortunately because if you haven’t noticed by now, these past couple months have fucking sucked balls.
Literally.
Once we’re inside the house, our shoes squeaking against the tile entry way, I’m reminded of why I built this house and how beautiful it turned out. Everything from the imported wood floors in the family room, the black cabinets she said she always wanted to the granite countertops with the black and gold streaks.
I think it’s also the first time Madison has seen the inside despite the fact I gave her the keys a week ago. She gasps, her hand over her mouth and turns to look at me. “Oh my God, Ridley, it’s beautiful.”
I don’t say anything. A thank-you doesn’t seem appropriate.