Page 122 of Riding the Sugar High

Great. I guess I forgot to account for my brother being a shitty husband too. He probably has no idea where she hangs out. “Who has she been spending time with lately?”

He shrugs, and it’s tough not to smack him in the face. Josie deserves better than this. She deserves someone who knows her. Someone who cares. Aaron? He only cares about himself.

“Don’t you think you should know this shit? Know what her routine is, and who her friends are, and?—”

“Josie works part-time three days a week, including today. Usually, she picks Sadie up from school on her way home, then cooks dinner. She and Sadie spend the afternoon together—if it’s sunny, at the park on Merrilord Street. If it’s raining, she either tries to set up a playdate or they hang out at home. Draw, watch cartoons, read. We have dinner together when I’m home from work, and then...” He swallows. “And then I try to get her to do something with me. Go on a date somewhere, or stay in and watch a movie. I get her flowers or chocolates. Usually, the answer is no, which is either met with resignation or, sometimes...”

I look down, uncomfortable. “Sometimes?”

“Frustration.” He doesn’t sound proud of it, which I can relate to. “Either way, she doesn’t spend time with anyone. Her life pretty much revolves around Sadie and avoiding me.” He rests one elbow on the window, tugging at the root of his hair. “You think I don’t give a shit, but you’re wrong. That’s hardly our problem.”

Or that’s exactly what someone like Aaron would say. Deflect and hang the blame on her rather than take responsibility for his actions. “Okay,” I say, barely hiding my sarcasm. “Then what’s the problem? Why is she drinking herself numb, and what are you doing about it?”

“What amIdoing about it?”

“Yes, you. You’re her husband, and she’s clearly developed a drinking habit.”

He shakes his head, chewing on his nails. I haven’t seen him do that since he was a kid. “It’s not...She doesn’t even drink at home, you know? It’s only when she’s stressed, or...”

“Aaron,” I scold. “That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know it.”

“How’s it different from you smoking weed when you can’t sleep?”

“It’s different because I don’t smoke weed until I stumble to the floor. I don’t make a scene in front of a crowd of people because of weed. I don’t up and vanish.AndI’m not a police officer.”

“She doesn’t drink on the job,” he barks.

I don’t see how he can be sure of that since, by the sound of it, she doesn’t share a whole lot about her life with him. “Even if that’s true, I doubt they’d let her keep her job if they found out.”

He doesn’t say a word, but his teary gaze is like a punch in the guts when I look his way. I’ve only seen Aaron cry once when he was twelve, and some kid broke his skateboard. He didn’t cry because of the skateboard—that happened later, when Mom grounded me for smacking that kid in the face.

“Yesterday,” I mumble.

He turns to me, brows bent over his eyes. “What?”

“Primrose and I started sleeping together yesterday.”

“Oh.” He sniffles, his lips bending up. “Shit. Ireallyinterrupted you.”

“Yes, you did.” I look out the window. “And you wonder why I hate you.”

“No, I know exactly why you hate me, Logan.”

Shifting in my seat, I stick to silence.

“So, did you tell Primrose? What happened between us?”

“Parts of it,” I mumble.

“Hmm.” He rubs a hand on his jaw. “Why not all of it?”

What a question. I didn’t tell her all of it because it’s humiliating, that’s why. Because it’s too painful to talk about.

“You think it’s a smart choice?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “Was what you did a smart choice?”

Neither of us says anything for a while, until he parks in front of a small building and takes his phone out. “There’s this one bakery Josie likes. I can’t remember the address.”