Page 6 of Love and Forgiveness (Rough & Ready Country #6)
Shaking my head to clear it, I feel myself falling apart.
I have to get a hold of myself. So, I turn back to our previous conversation, using anger to fortify me.
“Getting back to the kids. How often do I have to consult you about watching them? If Cricket or Birdie stops by and can watch them for a few minutes while I head out to the grocery store, do you honestly expect me to call you first? How difficult and unnatural do you want to make this?”
His face looks hard as iron, and he shakes his head. “You don’t care about what I want. If you did, everything would be so different right now—”
“Everything would be so different? You couldn’t even be bothered to Zoom into marriage counseling with me.”
“I didn’t like the therapist.”
“What was wrong with Paul?”
His face hardens even more, and he looks down, muttering under his breath. I only catch pieces of it, including “…on a first-name basis…”
I don’t know what he has against our old therapist. Maybe he never wanted to put in the hard work marriage requires. After all, running away from chronic problems was easy each time he headed overseas for work. The way he’s running away from signing the divorce papers now.
It’s not fair to me or the kids, and I don’t understand how he can stand to live this way, either. But the military can teach soldiers to lead double lives, and the same goes for a PMC.
Sticky details like still being married probably don’t bother him the same way they do me.
My mind wanders back to seeing him flanked on either side by Selma and Laurie at the table—two of the biggest skanks in Hollister.
A hot flash of jealousy seizes me. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to jealousy and anger.
Now, both incinerate me as words I know I’ll regret pour out.
“Back to our custody arrangement. I’ll be sure to call you the next time I need to step outside for five minutes, or heck, maybe even when I need to take a shower or use the bathroom.
That way, you won’t miss one precious moment with our children.
” I’m being childish and petty, but I can’t stop.
“And while we’re on the topic of babysitting, you better get back inside to Selma and Laurie.
Otherwise, you might be last for a blowjob under the bar table. ”
“You’ve got a filthy mouth. You know that,” Wolfe replies, stuck between a disgusted grimace and a shocked smirk.
I do. I’ve spent my entire professional life around shovelbums and Army Rangers with a thin frosting of intellectuals and academics on top.
I also have four brothers, three of whom served in the Navy or Coast Guard, and one who became a professional hockey player.
Still, he’s the pot calling the kettle black.
I retort, “Like you’ve got any room to talk. ”
“As I recall, that’s something you liked about me. My filthy, dirty mouth.”
I shake my head, knowing this conversation needs redirection before it takes an irreversible turn.
After all, he’s right. I loved the way he used to talk to me.
One naughty three-word sentence in his rumbly voice could set my heart on fire and drench my panties instantly.
A shiver of desire runs from my shoulders to my lower belly.
“Honestly, I can’t recall anything I like about you right now. ”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a bad liar, Hops.
” I haven’t heard that nickname on his lips in years.
He started calling me that in Afghanistan, even before we got together, because of my love of IPAs and my tendency to hop and clap my hands together when really excited about something.
It’s been ages since I felt that way, let alone in front of him.
My face must betray the shock of hearing the nickname because recognition flashes in his eyes.
“You know I’m not interested in Selma or Laurie, although I find your jealousy …
refreshing. The only way you could be jealous of those two is if you knew in your heart of hearts there was plenty—let me correct myself—there is plenty you still like about me.
And maybe some stuff you still want, too. ”
Wolfe pronounces the last sentence emphatically, his eyes never leaving my face.
He scrutinizes me, trying to read my reaction.
So, of course, my body betrays me, turning my cheeks into what I can only imagine is some ungodly color of pink.
The way his lips turn up slightly at the corners lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.
The cocky smile enrages me because he’s right.
I still like plenty about him and want more from him than I care to admit—even to myself.
That’s why I’ve worked so hard over the past three months since his return to keep my distance.
It’s also why I made sure to move out of our cabin on the ranch and rent a new place in Hollister four months ago.
I knew face-to-face I’d never have the willpower to leave him.
Of course, I can’t admit any of this to him.
Not now that I’m so close to finally starting my life over.
No matter how my body double-crosses me, I can’t go back to a toxic marriage where dashed hopes outweigh genuine joys, and loneliness replaces intimacy.
I can’t sacrifice every part of my life and my career for our children while he gallivants around the globe, living a life I’ll never know about, let alone understand.
Yes, I know he claims he’s changed. And the security company should be a solid sign of this.
But three months is hardly enough time to tell.
And, honestly, I’m tired of waiting for something that may never come.
After so many years of hurt and pain, I can’t risk falling for him or getting hurt by him again.
This time, the devastation would be complete because I’d be the one who allowed it to happen—against my better judgment.
Ironically, though, I need his help now more than ever. I wonder how he’ll react when I finally explain everything to him. I hope my brother Kurt’s right about all of this.