Page 35 of The Right Wrong Promise

Exactly the kind of drama I don’t need.

Not after Daria, the divorce, and ten thousand glass shards ripping my life to pieces. If I have my way, I’ll be a monk for the next few years.

Absolute celibacy.

If that goes well, we’ll see about the rest of my life.

I turn my attention back to the dock, still feeling Margot’s eyes on the back of my neck.

By the looks of it, plus a few good stomps, the structure feels sound, though it’ll need some fixing before it’s totally safe.

I grab a cloth and run my hand over a rough-looking board.

Splinters peel off from a small rotted area around a nail, trying to jam into my skin.

Damn.

This thing needs a full sand and restaining, plus maybe a few boards replaced for good measure.

And all these nails—some are popping out after years of neglect.

I’ll tap them down, I decide.

It’s quicker and easier than trying to put new ones in, and although they’re rusty, the structure feels solid enough to keep anyone from falling through it.

Especially with Sophie and Dan around.

Trouble is, the kids won’t look for splinters or uneven nails before they go pounding along on the wood barefoot.

Somebody will wind up hurt if I leave it like this.

New rule: no screwing around on the docks until I’ve fixed it up. If there’s time, I’ll treat it, too.

Winter’s coming.

Future proofing never hurt.

That’s a mistake I’m never making again. I yank at some splinters, ripping them from the docks and leaving fresh, pale wood behind.

At least Dan and Sophie can get some fresh air out here.

They’ve always wanted to live somewhere like this, born lovers of the great outdoors, just like me.

For now, that’s fantasy, but this getaway should be good for the soul.

Grabbing this rental was spur-of-the-moment, and it was the right call. The best call to take the sting out of the past couple years leading to our divorce judgment.

But fuck—if I could’ve prevented that sting in the first place, I would have.

If I could’ve spared them the pain, the anger, the uncertainty, I would’ve given up my next fifty vacations.

My chest cramps, and I grit my teeth.

No matter how much Daria’s bullshit hurt—and yes, it fucking did—the thing that kills me the most is how the kids were caught in the middle.

How couldn’t they be?

Their mother went out ugly.