Parents being late on making payments. Kids coming in sick and passing it along to me. Employees coming in late for work, or hell, not coming in at all. Things going wrong—such as the oven breaking last week, or the toilets overflowing.
As much as I enjoyed seeing the children every day, their smiling faces and laughter…it wasn’t enough anymore.
“How do you know it’s going to hurt for a while?” I asked. “Done it often?”
He snorted. “This bullet wound was my third—and hopefully last. The first two I sustained a couple of months into my first tour. Took one to the lower calf, and one to the upper arm. They all fucking hurt, but I suspect that none of them hurt as much as taking one through your hand.”
“How do you know?” I challenged.
“I know based on usage levels. Your hand is probably one of the most used out of all your body parts.” He moved until he was perched on the bench beside me, his long legs stretched out in front. “You do a lot more with your hand than you realize. Drive. Eat. Sleep on it. Style your hair. The hand has more nerves than other body parts, also.”
I gave him a droll look. “My hair looks bad, doesn’t it?”
He snorted. “It’s cute. Just like you.”
I laughed at that. “You’re terrible.”
I felt like crying.
Bayou hadn’t spoken to me so much in a long time.
I missed him.
I hadn’t realized how much until that very moment.
Hell, that only made me miss Wade all the more.
“Why are you sitting out here all alone?” he asked.
“Why are you sitting out here all alone?” I countered.
I’d seen him, of course.
He’d been sitting on the park bench across the entire park. The bench that I usually sat at because it was the furthest away from the daycare.
If I sat too close, the workers sometimes came out to ask me questions despite it being my lunch break, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with whether they thought I should be open for Labor Day or not.
“I was here first,” he countered.
That he was.
“True.”
“Dropped Wade off at physical therapy today. I was waiting for him to call and let me know that he’s ready to be picked up…” he began.
I snorted. “Wade probably took a freakin’ taxi. If you’ve been waiting, that means he’s been gone for a while.”
Bayou frowned, then pulled out his phone to dial a number. I assumed it was the hospital.
When he spoke to whoever was on the other end of the line, his frown got ferocious.
“Fuck, okay. Thank you.”
Then he hung up, glaring at me lightly.
“Why didn’t you go get him if you knew that he was going to do that?” he accused.
I snorted. “I don’t know what made you think that Wade and I talk, but we don’t,” I told him bluntly. “In the hospital, that was the first time I was close enough to speak to him in a very long time.”
That was by design, of course.
It was hard as hell to be around the love of my life and not want him.
He’d broken my heart, of course, but that didn’t mean that I hated him.
I didn’t.
I loved him.
I just needed him to love me more than what he was able to give me.
It was selfish, yes.
But for my sanity, as well as peace of mind, that was the path that I chose in life.
And if that made me unhappy, then so be it.
I was not living my life for anyone else anymore.
At least, that’d been what I thought up until I’d heard that Wade was shot.
Then all my good intentions flew out the window.
He’d scared the absolute crap out of me, and the thought of a world without Wade in it made me sad.
Too sad.
Way sadder than a person should be when they were divorced from said person.
“Seems like that’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”
Was it?
I didn’t think so.
At least, at the time I hadn’t.
Now, I wasn’t sure what I felt.
With the distance we had between us, it became a lot easier to avoid him than it had back then.
It’d been two years since our divorce had been finalized, and each month—hell, each day—had been an exercise in control.
I missed my best friend.
I missed him, and I knew that it was my fault that I missed him.
But fuck…when he’d been hurt.
I’d seen my life flash before my eyes, and it’d been a lonely, desolate feeling seeing my older self so bitter and all alone.
“You’re thinking some hard stuff over there, girl,” Bayou rumbled. “There a reason for that frown the size of Texas?”
I snorted. “Just thinking that I’m kind of stupid.”
“We’re all stupid,” he told me, sounding so sure that I paused to fully listen. “Some of us just get over being dumb faster than others.”
I agreed with that wholeheartedly.
But shit.
There was getting over being stupid, and then there was getting over being me. I couldn’t change who I was. Not when it was so thoroughly ingrained in my psyche.
“I…”
My phone rang, interrupting me.
And my heart skipped a beat because I hadn’t heard that ringtone in so long that it physically hurt to hear it.
I hadn’t heard it since Wade and I had still been a couple.
How do I live without you…
I snatched it up before the song that I associated with Wade continued to play, and answered it as fast as I possibly could.
“Hello?”
The last person in the world I expected to be on the other end of the line was my ex-husband. God, it’d been so long since he’d called.
“Landry,” Wade’s deep, melodic voice practically purred into my ear.
God, every single freakin’ time I heard his voice I wanted to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet.
I didn’t know what it was about the deep resonance of this man’s voice that set my blood on fire but, swear to God, all he had to do was say my name sometimes and I wanted him.
“Hey,” I said softly, looking up to find Bayou staring across the street at someone. “What’s up?”
“I had a call from my Pop today,” he said without preamble. “Do you think you can spare the day tomorrow to go with me somewhere?”
Like I’d ever tell him no.
Hell, he didn’t even have to explain.
“Sure,” I said without any further thought. “What time?”
“Eight. No, seven. I’ll pick you up at your place,” he stated.
I looked down at my suddenly trembling hands. “Okay,” I agreed. “See you then.”
I heard the click of dead air seconds later, and I was left staring at my phone like it was an object from outer space instead of the lifeline that kept me entertained throughout the day.
“I’m not sure how I ever survived before I got my first phone,” I murmured, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat that hearing my ex-husband’s voice caused.
“I remember a time where I had to read the tampon boxes when I took a shit,” he said. “We didn’t have these fancy phones with the world at our fingertips, keeping us entertained like we do nowadays. I knew all about toxic shock syndrome, thanks to my sister leaving her feminine hygiene products out. I also remember reading the goddamn toilet cleaner label.”
I started to snicker. “No reading shampoo bottles for you, eh?”
He winked at me and stood, his eyes once again going across the street.
I saw a woman there, kitted out in high heels and a flowy dress, drawing on the storefront windows with shoe polish. “Who’s that?”
Bayou shrugged. “New bakery chick. Sh
e opens at the end of the month.”
“How do you know?” I squinted my eyes to see if I could see anything on the window’s storefront that would tell me what it was.
Other than the half-drawn cupcake, I couldn’t see any distinguishing markers that would give that information out freely.
“She comes to visit a man once a week at the prison,” he answered, his eyes still captivated. “I have to throw away her goddamn cupcakes, too.”
I gasped. “Why?”
He looked down at me then.
“Have you ever thought about smuggling razor blades in cupcakes? What about lube?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
I opened my mouth and then closed it. “Did she? No, I mean the answer is no,” I admitted. “Did she hide something in the cupcake?”
He shook his head. “No. But it’s been done before. Fool me once…” With that, he left, offering me a wink. “Take care of yourself, girl.”
I lifted my hand to wave but stopped halfway when I felt the entire thing cramp up.
My stomach bottomed out as my hand went into a violent spasm, and I barely stopped the cry of pain from falling past my lips.
Luckily, I managed, because Bayou didn’t turn around or catch the pain.
Then again, I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d held the cries in, or because there was a hawk in the air drawing his attention away from me.
Sighing in pain, I shoved what was left of my no longer appetizing lunch into my sack and stood up.
All the while, I wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Spending any length of time with Wade was downright terrifying.
Chapter 6
My alone time is for everyone’s safety.
-Coffee Cup
Wade
“Seriously, what the fuck did I ever do to deserve this kind of life?” I groaned.
Seeing Landry standing on her porch in her tiny-ass fucking shorts had my cock hardening beyond anything that would ever be comfortable for a four-hour car ride.
Not to mention I was in pain on top of that, and in a really god-awful mood.
I was rethinking my ability to spend four hours in a vehicle with my ex-wife who still had the capability to bring me from soft to fully hard with just a goddamn look, especially dressed like she was.
“Fuckkk,” I growled as I watched her walk down toward me. “Fuck my life.”
I got out after I parked and walked around the car, limping only slightly as I opened her car door wide.
She smiled timidly at me and scooted around the car door, giving me a perfect view of her cleavage as she did.
Where the shorts were tight, the tank top was loose and flowy, showing off her impressive rack.
God, I loved her tits.
Loved and missed them.
“So, do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked. “Or is this just a joy ride?”
I snorted. “If it was a joy ride, I’d be on my bike. And as for what’s going on, I got a call from my dad, who got a call from our lawyer. He needs to see us.”
She gave me an assessing look, then dropped down into the car.
When her feet were in, I closed the door and tried not to show how much it hurt to walk as I moved back around the front of the car. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t ride my bike that far with the kind of pain I was currently in.
Once I was in my seat again, the throbbing in my upper thigh simmered back down to manageable levels instead of gut boiling I’m-about-to-die pain.
“I seriously don’t understand why the lawyer needs both of us present,” Landry grumbled as she settled into her chair. “Or what would require us to be present at all.”
Her skin stuck to the leather, and it made a farting sound, causing her to blush.
“That was the seat,” she automatically replied.
I snorted. “Sure, it was.”
Her face colored even darker. “I swear to God it was, Wade.”
Inwardly I smiled.
Outwardly, I remained cool and collected.
This had always been the easy part between Landry and me, the back and forth banter that had was a part of how we communicated.
I loved this Landry.
It was the Landry who broke my heart, the one who left me, that I wasn’t sure about.
She scooted again, trying to recreate the sound, and couldn’t.
“Oh my God.” She groaned. “Seriously.”
I began to chuckle then.
Seeing her so flustered as she tried to recreate the sound had my belly loosening for the first time since yesterday when my dad had called me.
“I don’t know why he needs us both there,” I admitted. “But my dad called and said that the lawyer needed to talk to both of us, and he wouldn’t say why. Swear to God.”
She sighed. “At least it’s not me driving.”
I snorted. “When did you ever drive anywhere when I was in the car with you?”
She shrugged. “It’s not like that anymore. I have to drive everywhere. I hate driving.”
I barely refrained from saying, “Whose fault is that?”
Instead, I went with, “Well, I may have a bum leg that could give out on me in a couple of weeks, but for now it presses the gas pedal just fine.”
She didn’t say anything to that at first, only looked down at my affected leg.
“I can’t feel my hand,” she admitted. “At least, I can’t most of the time. They said it was normal. Apparently, nerves were severed there, and it’s possible I’ll never fully regain complete control of it again.”
The thought of Landry being hurt at all felt like a sucker punch straight to the sternum. It’d been a few weeks since it’d happened, and I still woke up in a sweat about it at night.
It’d happened because of what I’d been investigating. Jesus Christ, but had she not been there because of me, she would’ve been just fine right now instead of telling me in a shattered voice that her hand was numb.
“My doctors are worried about a bone infection,” I admitted, unsure what to say to make this all better. “I’ve been on over four antibiotics now. If the one I’m on now doesn’t kick my white blood cell count down, they’re going to readmit me and drip some more IV antibiotics. Stronger ones that’ll hopefully kick the infection’s ass. Though, I hope the one I’m on now will do that.”
“What if it doesn’t?” she asked worriedly.
I swallowed hard, not ready to admit it even to myself what would happen.
But, like always, I didn’t lie to Landry. I also didn’t scale the truth to save her feelings.
“They might have to amputate my leg.”
We were silent a while after that, digesting the impact of the words that had just come out of my mouth.
I’d just merged onto the highway when I looked over to find her tapping her fingers on her knees.
I barely smothered a grin.
Landry didn’t like merging onto the highway. Never had, and I doubted ever would. When she drove, she avoided the highway altogether. It was only with me that she felt safe enough to go on it at all.
And, to prick her temper and get her mind off of what we were doing, I teased her.
Just like I always did.
“You missed a spot shaving,” I pointed to her leg, right at the side of her knee.
She lifted said leg and said, “Where?”
I pointed it out again, this time touching her, and she groaned. “Holy shit. That’s long!”
I rolled my eyes.
It wasn’t that long, but it was a spot that she always missed for some reason. And since her leg hair was blonde, it was easy to miss.
As long as you weren’t so in tune to a pair of legs like I was. Infatuation didn’t even begin to cover it.
God, I missed everything about Landry.
Her sweet legs, and her long hair. Waking up to find her curled around me, stealing every single cover the
re was to have. Her taking such long showers that I was forced to take five-minute ones or risk having to take the remainder of it with cold water.
Hell, I even missed the bad.
The crying during at random times. The agonizing way she’d tear herself down. The way sometimes she’d go into one of these moods and not come out of it for a couple of days.
I now understood some of that to be the depression that Kourt had explained to me. It all made sense.
I wished I could go back in time.
I wished that I could make things right.
I wished that I hadn’t tried to make her feel bad for not doing what I thought was the right thing when it came to donating to her sister.
Had I known then what I knew now, I wouldn’t have said a word.
If I’d only left it alone…
“What are you doing?” I asked in confusion.
She pulled out a mini bottle of lotion, and then a small pink razor.
“I’m going to take care of this little patch,” she murmured like I was dumb. “That okay?”
And before she’d even heard my reply, she applied the lotion and started to shave. In the front seat of my truck.
“What are you going to do with that?” I asked, eyeing the lotion and hair.
She pursed her lip and then eyed the window. “You fling that out of my window and it’s going to go all down the side. I just had the truck washed.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll just put it in the bag in my purse,” she murmured, doing just that.
Moments later, she sat back, and I had to smell the scent of her peaches and cream lotion for the next few miles and did so without saying a word.
It took me back to a time right after our first date.
And an idea struck me like a hammer coming down at the perfect angle on a nail’s head.
Whack.
I’d remind her why we were good together.
Now that I had confirmation that her roommate was nothing more than a friend who supported her in her times of need, I realized rather quickly that the only reason I’d been staying away, giving her her space, was due to the fact that I had assumed that she had moved on with someone else.
Except she hadn’t moved on, not even a little bit.
A person who’s moved on doesn’t get that upset over her ex-husband being hurt.
It just didn’t happen.
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