Page 52

Maybe

He throws his hands up and stands in front of me slapping them down on the counter beside me. His head dips, capturing my eyes. “When are you going to stop making me out to be the bad guy here?”

“When you stop acting like one.” I arrange a plate full of carrots and a heaping splat of ranch to go with it knowing neither of the kids will touch a vegetable unless there’s ranch to drown it in.

“Oh, spare me the fucking bullshit.” He snorts, annoyed. His hands drop. He crosses them over his chest. I know my words struck him. I can see it in the way his body stiffens. The way his voice hardens and the way he’s denying everything I say. “And you know, this thing where we are constantly blaming the other is getting really old. I’ve missed a game. Bigfuckingdeal.”

You want to slap him across the face, don’t you?

You and me both, honey.

“Like three weeks ago when you forgot it was your weekend with them. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He looks confused at first, like I’ve slapped him in the face. His jaw ticks and he exhales, closing his eyes. “I’mnot!” His voice is sharp and accusing. “I told you I wasn’t sure if I could make it.” His cold eyes, eyes I don’t know, glower at me, hold my stare longer than I should allow him to.

“I can’t keep doing this with you,” I tell him, wanting to grab his hand and stuff it inside the garbage disposal until he tells me he’ll never promise them anything again. “Grady stands up for you, Austin. Always. He believes you’re going to be there and when you’re not, you’re making a liar out of him and yourself. And then there’s Cash, in the shadows, doubting your honesty because he knows he can’t count on you.”

Something I knew for years.

He says nothing at first, his eyes darting from mine to the wall and the photograph of the boys and us on their first Christmas. “You’re acting like a fuckin’ bitch, ya know that?”

Don’t punch him in the face with the kids nearby. Don’t. Plus, you know he’ll fight back. Remember when I slapped him across the face? Oh, well, you weren’t there yet so I’ll tell you. He shoved me. Hard. “So I’m a bitch because I’m telling you the truth? Because I’m trying to make you see you’re breaking their hearts?”

“They’re kids,” he says with a groan. “They’ll forget.”

They won’t.

“That’s your answer? They’ll forget?”

Again, he throws his hands in the air. “Christ, Alyson, you overanalyze everything to the point you make yourself crazy.” After a moment, something in his expression changes and he shakes his head. Oh, I don’t like where this is heading.

Not.

One.

Bit.

He steps closer, his coldness radiating from him but if I look closely, there’s a smirk threatening. “Tell me though. . .” He pauses, waiting for me to meet his eyes. “How long has Ridge been back in town?” The question—asked through his low, labored voice—sends my breathing into what feels like I’m running a marathon.

I knew this was going to come up eventually. He knows my past with Ridge. It was like a competition between the two of them growing up, and they always knew where the other one was at. “Couple days.”

I answer that pretty well, don’t I? My voice doesn’t even waver.

His face is unreadable. Carefully, he walks over to the liquorcabinet for a bottle, which has me fuming. It’s not his house anymore and he has no right to touch my booze. He doesn’t even look at what it is before he unscrews the cap and takes a drink straight from the bottle, squinting at the burn. “I bet you fucked him already, haven’t you? Probably couldn’t wait to spread those skinny legs for him, could you?”

At least he said my legs were skinny. But I doubt I’ll ever forget the look on his face when he says those words to me. It’s one of disgust. The meaning behind them, the blazing eyes, makes me flinch at his tone.

“Do you hear yourself right now?”

I can’t believe he’s even going there, but then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. “You didn’t answer my question,” he replies, glowering at me.

I grind my teeth together. “What do you think?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“You’d be wrong, again.”

Settling the bottle down, he stalks over to me, pushing himself against me, pinning me to the counter near the stove. My eyes shoot to the door, looking to see where the kids are. They’re out of view, by the fence tossing the ball back and forth though Cash keeps glancing in our direction. “Have you forgotten you’re still technically my wife?” he whispers, our chests pressed together. “People are going to start talking around town.”