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Austin approaches and ruins my alone time with them, with Brie at his side. She grabs his hand as if to say, I got him now. I’ll get to Brie and exactly what happened the night I became friendless later, but now’s not the time.

Do you notice how he doesn’t pull away? How his hand grips hers the way it used to hold mine?

“Dirtbag.”

“What?” Grady asks, having heard my mumbled name calling.

I blink, then clear my throat, smiling down at him. “Did Daddy pack you lunch?” He nods, and my eyes move back to Austin. “What did you pack them?”

He stares down at me as I stand. What a perfect analogy of our life together. Him always looking down on me. I can’t say it was always like that, but I certainlyneverfelt equal to him. You couldn’t. In the presence of Austin Jacob, you’re either blinded by the light of his charm or left in the bitter cold of his shadow. There’s no in-between.

My world is now winter.

“Brie packed it. I think it’s a sandwich and carrots.”

“Cash doesn’t like carrots,” I tell him, not surprised he doesn’t know this.

“You look different,” Austin notes, searching my face and body for what appears different to him.

I jerk my chin up, my eyes, voice, and stance defiant. “I cut it off. Blondes have more fun.”

I don’t know why, but the moment our eyes catch, I want to rub it in his face I saw Ridge this morning. I want to see his reaction to the fact that his stepbrother is back in town. If I know Austin as well as I think I do, I have a feeling the response will be amusing to me.

Take a look at Brie beside Austin. If you haven’t noticed Brie yet or paid much attention to the backstabbing husband-stealing whore, look at her now. She’s about five foot nine, has long legs, and dark brown hair that’s now practically black.

Shh. . . she doesn’t know about her car, but do you notice how dark her hair is?

Fun fact here for you, that’s Austin’s doing. Naturally, Brie’s hair is a light brown, practically blonde. About two years ago she started dyeing it darker. Maybe I should have taken notice then she was after my husband, but I didn’t.

I’m, too, naturally pretty light-haired. My color is something between golden brown and dirt. Not pretty. Coloring my hair has been happening since I hit high school and with Austin, he liked my hair darker. Now that I think about it, slowly over the years I’d become more and more what he wanted and less like myself.

Now look at Brie falling victim to his ways too.

“I packed Cash pretzels instead because he said he didn’t like carrots,” Brie notes, smiling at me. How dare she smile at me!

Tell me something. . . is it wrong for me to want to rip the lunch boxes out of their bags, toss the food in her face, gouge her eyes out and stick my tongue out?

Given the boys are present, I won’t, but when the little dudes walk away, I might. I have already committed a felony this morning, tried to kill a man, and daydreamed about fucking Ridge. I could be capable of being a twatty turd who can’t forgive her friend for spreading her legs.

Austin breaks the silence and nods to the school. “So what, we walk them inside?”

My jaw clenches. It’s my natural reaction to hearing his voice. “We walk them to the door, Austin. They don’t allow us in the school for security reasons. If you had made it to the open house and ice cream social, you would know the morning procedures.” I smile. “Or. . . better yet, took them to schoolat alllast year.”

Too much? Probably since the kids are present. Damn it. Look at the expression on his face. I went a little too far. You know, I always do this. I never know when to keep my mouth shut or stop when I’m ahead. I pry, like I’m trying to unstick a sticker until I lift the edges and then end up ripping the backing off too.

Austin’s jaw clenches now, a frown set on his stupid, handsome face. “I would have, Aly, had I not been working.”

This is where we start fighting.

I catch myself though, because of Brie who attempts to lead my kids to the school. Yeah, right. Like I’m allowingthatto happen.

They don’t go with her. They wait for me, their sweet boy faces staring at me.

I look down at Cash and Grady, leading them toward the school. “Who’s excited for second grade?”

Grady raises his other hand, skipping beside me. “I am.”

“I’mnot,” Cash mumbles, dragging his feet. He reminds me of a moody teenager, just six years too early.