More tears spill over. She rolls her lower lip in. “You were the only husband I ever wanted.”
The question “Then why?” is on the tip of my tongue, but the last thing I want is the same old fight that’ll drive more distance between us.
Instead, I show her how I feel. Her face is only a couple of inches higher than mine where I’m kneeling on the floor.
I flatten my hands on her thighs and stretch up. Our lips press together and I don’t force it. How’s she going to react?
She doesn’t at first. But she isn’t pulling away. My body’s shaking from the restraint. We haven’t been apart nearly long enough for me to forget what it’s like between us. If I wasn’t captivated by her smile and the way she moves through life, then I would’ve been irrevocably tethered to her based on the chemistry between us.
I add pressure to her lips and hers melt under mine. Finally. She tastes of mint and tears and it’s familiar from our years together.
She sighs and cups my face with her hands. Triumph races through my blood, but I hold myself still. This isn’t about me. This is about offering comfort and support the only way I know how.
When she opens for me and our tongues touch, my fingers dig into her thighs. I relax my hands and stroke them up and down her legs.
I want this woman. I always have.
Her tongue clashes with mine and she scoots to the edge of the chair. I can wrap my arms all the way around her.
Blood rushes to my groin until I’m harder than I’ve been in months. The object of my fantasies is in front of me again.
Footsteps pound on the floor. “Mom? Dad?”
Natalie gasps and shoves against me. Her chair wheels back until it hits her desk. Her eyes are wide and her lips are pink from my kiss.
I sway, but stay where I am. The situation won’t get better with my erection on display.
“We’re in here,” I call over my shoulder.
Maddy appears at the door. I can’t turn fully around without inspiring questions about the bulge in my shorts.
Natalie props her arm on the desk and sinks her head in her hand. “What’s up, peanut?” she asks, all nonchalant.
Maddy hugs her stuffed cat. “I thought you were gone.”
“Nope, we’re here.” Natalie’s tone is bright and rings false. Our kiss bothers her. Logically, I know it’s a complication but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Okay. Can I watch TV?”
“Only until Abby wakes up,” I say. Otherwise, Maddy will bug Abby until she wakes up and an Abby that’s short of sleep is like having a cranky bear cub around the house.
When Maddy pads away, I look at Natalie.
Her cheeks are red and her gaze is boring into her black computer screen. “That was a mistake.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
Her brow crinkles and she meets my gaze. “We can’t do that again. If the girls see, they’ll think…”
“That I still care about you.”
She scowls. “This divorce is hard enough.”
“Is it?” When her gaze hardens, I continue. “Because it seemed so easy for you to leave. It was all planned out.”
“It had to be. You had all the power. The business was in your name and all the retirement was in your name.”
“My name, but it was ours.” And now half is mine and half is hers.
“I want to be my own person, Simon.” Her voice is quiet. “That includes having a purpose of my own outside of what I do as a wife and mom. I need to be a good role model for the girls.”
I understand what she’s saying, but I don’t. She never said she felt like anything less and I didn’t think I treated her like it. Our life was busy.
“Natalie…”
“Simon. The girls can’t see us and get excited that there’s more here than there really is.” Her jaw tightens and resolve fills her eyes.
If I want to make headway with her—and after that kiss, I know I do—I don’t push it. “Okay. Finish up in here. I’ll make breakfast.”
I leave her alone in the office. My body might have calmed down, but my mind is spinning. I respect her wishes to keep the girls out of it. I don’t want them hurt and confused any more than she does. But that doesn’t mean I can’t woo my wife under their radar.
Chapter 6
Natalie
Simon took the whole week off.
Oh, I know he was on his phone whenever he could sneak away, but it’s Saturday and he was physically present the entire week. The girls are in daddy heaven.
But my mom’s doing better and my dad sees through my excuses to escape the overpowering presence of my ex-husband.
“Kick him out or move him back in.”
“It’s not that easy, Dad.”
Simon’s not moving back in. Not when I’ve started feeling like an independent adult. But I can’t bring myself to kick him out.
I’m hiding in the office. I’ve gone through all my training and even listened to a few entrepreneurial podcasts. My education wasn’t long ago, but when I listened to all the new terms about financial independence and profit first, it feels like ages ago.
This was easier when I let Simon take the lead, which he did effortlessly. He works with as much confidence as he lives the rest of his life. His parents might be a high-maintenance mess, but they instilled their kids with the belief that there is nothing off limits in the world.
“I can do this,” I mutter under my breath as I shut my computer down. My next step is to write a detailed business plan now that I’m mostly trained and know what I can offer and the commitment required.
After that, well… then I have to start working the system I’ve been painstakingly planning.
When I leave the office, the rest of the house is quiet. Did they go outside?
I glance out the window. The sky is dark blue. Rain is on the way. I hope they didn’t go for a walk, or if they did, that they’ll be home soon.
Voices drift down the stairs.
Ah. The girls are in their room. Is Simon playing with them?
I jog up the stairs. His voice becomes clear. The door to the girls’ bedroom is cracked open and both the girls are planted in front of their Barbie dream house. Simon must be on the phone in the guest room.
I don’t mean to spy, but I step closer to the guest room door and hear him say, “I’ll probably be back in the office on Monday. Why don’t you take the call and send me a report?”
My mouth twists. He doesn’t see the irony in wanting to take a weekend while making his assistant do it. When I worked with him, I quit asking the question, “But does this need to be done on the weekend in the first place?”
Simon didn’t realize that some of his clients were divorced workaholics who are alone in life and if he didn’t set limits, he’d end up the same way. And look what happened.
Except he’s clearly taking the weekend off and sloughing the duties off onto Helena.
But it’s not any of my business anymore.
“Thanks,” he says. “And can you return Lancaster’s call? I forwarded the email to you already.”
Helena probably has a full workday ahead of her.
I must’ve made enough noise to catch the girls’ attention. “Mommy, are you done in the office?”
I lean against their door frame. “Yes. But it looks like a rainy day. What should we do?”
Abby pivots away from the dollhouse, her legs twisting in a way that would land me on the couch for days, rehabbing a sore knee. “Daddy said we should go to the movies.”
“Is there anything good out?”
Simon speaks behind me, making me jump. “There’s always a kid’s movie in the theaters, right?”
“I need to run.” One, I’m not committing to a family outing. I’m too raw and it sounds too good. And two, I haven’t done a thing to train all week. I don’t want to show up to my next session with Aleah and be out of breath before we even finish our warmup.
His eyes light
up. “Gainesworth family workout?”
Abby cheers and jumps up. Confusion puffs Maddy’s lower lip out. “What’s that?”
She was still in diapers the last time we all hung out in the home gym together. Only in those days, Simon punished himself on the treadmill and I entertained the kids while half-assing some weights.
Abby grins and explains. “Daddy plays the music really loud and sings along while he’s running and we’re down there with him.”
Simon’s grin matches his daughter’s. “Only this time, Mom is going to be on the treadmill singing. Runner’s choice.”
A staggering case of self-consciousness hits me. This is worse than a family movie date. I’ve never run in front of Simon. Walked on the treadmill, yes. Walked outside, of course. Ran while he chased me with promises of tickling me silly, yes. But not, like, a real show of athleticism.
Running is something I do for an escape from the real world. To build myself up after the hurt he caused. I don’t want to do that in front of him. If it wasn’t too early, I’d suggest we go to the movies immediately.
Simon starts down the stairs. “Get your shoes on, girls. I’ll grab the water bottles.”
They’re all crazy excited while I’m standing here dying inside because I don’t want my ex-husband to drop in a fit of laughter over seeing me try to run for real. I can’t fall apart on the treadmill and sob in front of my girls. That hasn’t happened for months, but my wounds aren’t fully healed.
But as I watch the girls race around their room, changing T-shirts because they think the new ones are better to work out in, it’s clear they’re second-guessing nothing. In their world, why wouldn’t I do something as simple as run on a treadmill in front of them and their dad.
Be a good role model.
If I can do this, I can do the movies without my heart hurting so bad I can’t sleep.
I swing by my bedroom and get changed. By the time I hit the basement, music is pumping from the speakers. Simon is running the kids through steps that look like a line dance we once learned in a college class.
I make my way to the treadmill as if I’m trudging through shin-deep snow. The song switches out to a fast-paced dance song. I glance at Simon. His back is to me, but he found my playlist as easily as he does everything else.
I warm up with a brisk walk that stretches longer than normal. Finally, I push the speed up. My feet hit the belt with a steady rhythm and I get lost in the sound of the motor and the music.
Until Simon appears at my side.
My right foot hits the outside edge of the belt and I steady myself on the arm rails.
“Sorry.” He puts a hand on the outer edge of the treadmill monitor and his other hand on his hip. The girls are jumping over weights behind him. He made them a makeshift obstacle course. “So, what made you pick up running?”
I gasp-talk to Aleah when I’m running. I have no intention of doing it in front of Simon. I punch the speed down until I’m walking. The distance is a mile shorter than intended, but at least I ran.
“I thought a half-marathon would be good for me and when I mentioned it to Aleah, she was so confident that it was possible.”
His brows lift. “A half, huh?”
I nod. “I didn’t think of it in time to do the Fargo Marathon, but there’s a women’s half in August. She thinks I’ll be able to get my training in.”
“Of course you can.” He says it simply, like he’s more assured than Aleah, or Rachel, who had invited me over to watch the Fargo marathon last month. The path went by her house and her kids love to cheer on the racers. Watching sparked my ambition and Rachel told me to go for it. So did Aleah. Now Simon. Apparently, I’m the only one who lacks faith.
He’s standing close and I’m hot and sweaty. There’ve been many times we were like this and I didn’t care and we both ended up in the shower together. I have to get away from him. “You want to take a turn?”
“Sure, if you’re done.”
We switch places and I hang out with the kids, running through the course Simon made for them. The girls change the rules each time.
It’s not long before I regret getting off the treadmill. Not because I’m not having fun, but because I shouldn’t be too insecure to run with my ex in the room. I should’ve owned it and finished what I planned to do.
I have a chance to when Simon hops off the treadmill. Sweat wicks down his shirt, but it doesn’t stop him from rearranging the obstacle course, adding more weights for the girls to jump over. I stand with the girls, fascinated by how he’s expanding it and increasing the difficulty.
He hands his phone to Abby. “I need you to time. I’m racing your mom.”
My eyes go wide. “You’re what?”
Jumping from foot to foot, he rolls his neck. “You and me. A race.”
“I-I don’t…” I was about to say race, but isn’t that what I’m down here training for? I don’t plan to race other runners, just myself. This is different. It’s a downstairs, homemade obstacle course. I didn’t finish my mileage. I can make up for chickening out by jumping over a few weight stacks. “Be ready to call American Ninja Warrior by the time I’m done.”
Without waiting for Abby to start the clock, I take off. Simon’s laugh bellows out of him and bounces off the walls. He claps and cheers and the girls join in as I round one of the curves in the winding course.
Before I’m done, he starts, whipping through each small challenge much faster than I was able to, closing in on me.
A squeal rips out of me and I add more speed, thrilling adrenaline racing through my veins. At the next jump, the toe of my shoe catches the top weight. It slides and I lose my balance. My arms cartwheel and I hop on one foot when strong arms close around me and I’m pressed against a hard chest.
The gasping laugh that leaves me is from a different woman, a carefree one having the time of her life. Simon joins as he rights me, his chuckle vibrating next to my ear.
Taking his time, he releases me. Sweaty or not, I could’ve handled being in his arms a lot longer.
The girls cheer and rush us, cutting off any awkwardness after Simon’s save. I give high fives to each of them, but when I lift my gaze to meet Simon’s, my heart clambers into my throat and my body flushes with heat that has nothing to do with my recent exertion.
His eyes are hooded, his look knowing. If this was three years ago and the girls were in bed or at my parents, I know what’d happen next.
I avert my gaze and take the phone from Abby. I was bold enough to race Simon, but I’m back to being a chicken. Keeping my emotional distance from Simon is a lot easier when we’re not touching—and when he doesn’t have a chance to look at me like he wants to lick me clean.
“Who’s racing Dad next?”
* * *
Simon
The weekend is almost over and I know if I leave here and go to work tomorrow then it’s all over. I’ll go back to my condo when work’s done and see the kids one night a week and every other weekend.
I glance over my computer at where the girls are playing on the lawn. The deck smells like citronella and we’re all loaded with an obnoxious smelling bug spray that claims to be natural. The coolness of a June morning is losing way to the summer sun with a dash of extra humidity from the rain we got yesterday.
But the girls are content and I can snatch a few moments to catch up with my inbox.
Natalie’s on her way back from her parents. My mother-in-law is doing better, but still weak. I can’t take another week off and an unfamiliar feeling settles into the middle of my chest.
Resentment.
I want more time with my family. I need more time to win Natalie back. Why can’t I get away for longer? If it wasn’t for Helena, I wouldn’t have gotten the week I did.
As it was, I still clocked plenty of time on my phone and on my laptop during the late-night hours.
I stuff the feeling away. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without the money Liam left behind. My company is r
elatively young and I have no business resenting the time it takes to make it successful. It’s my legacy. It’s going to be what I leave the girls, whether they go into investing or not. When they were born, Natalie and I barely had a quarter each to rub together.
In those days, I was terrified that something would happen to me. Natalie had her parents, but we couldn’t count on mine. They had retirement funds they used to constantly travel the world and avoid their personal problems.
Natalie threw all her support and education behind me and Gainesworth Equity. I was frantic to build it to a stage where it could support her and our kids if something happened to me.
No one predicted my brother would have a heart attack and die behind the wheel. But he’d left enough to take care of his wife and the child, and me.
I tackle the detailed reports Helena sent. I can do both—win my wife back and run a successful business. I’ll make damn sure I get it done.
One of our top clients is trying to micromanage his accounts instead of trusting me to do my job. I don’t mind fielding questions and inquiries, but when I can prove his investment ideas actively lose money he doubles down. And it’s usually on the weekend. I’m certain it’s after he plays eighteen holes with his equally rich and bored friends, who I suspect get shitty investment advice from several people in their lives.
My phone lights up and I’m grateful for the distraction from the Lancaster mess. Sending Helena to deal with him should’ve been a no brainer. Lancaster can be a pest because he misses the adrenaline of high stakes business. We’ve become good friends over the years and he even had me and Natalie over to his place before he moved to Arizona. And that’s probably why Helena can’t get very far with him.
I answer and Charlie’s chipper voice flows through the phone. “Sunday check-in, boss. Is this a good time?”
“It’s fine.”
“Great.” He runs down the list that’s the same every week. “So, your suits have been picked up and delivered to your place. The freezer is packed with heat-and-serve meals and I put a few in your fridge at the office in case you end up eating in.” That happens more than I anticipate. Conference calls that drag on for hours. New company profiles to study. I have a dorm fridge and microwave in my office for such occasions. Most days, Charlie orders in for me and Helena. The meals in the fridge are for the evenings and weekends when no one’s around to make the order.
Eligible Ex-husband Page 5