by Ryan, Lexi
My heart cracks a little. Kace never ruined his marriage, and if I had any guts at all, I would’ve made sure he understood that years ago. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a long time before I type.
ItsyBitsy123: You can’t blame yourself for the end of something that requires two committed participants. You should be proud that you were willing to fight for it, and proud that you were willing to let her go when she needed that. That’s all anyone can ask for.
I reread my reply. I’m not sure it does any justice to what I so desperately want him to understand.
ItsyBitsy123: BTW, don’t ever worry about being too honest. There’s no such thing. And anyway, I like getting a look inside that big heart of yours.
GoodHands69: Thank you. For that, and for . . . just listening. It means a lot.
I can hardly swallow around the lump in my throat. This guy has no idea, does he? I’d listen anytime, anywhere.
ItsyBitsy123: Absolutely any time. I mean that.
Chapter Eleven
Kace
“Mr. Matthews? This is Janie from Little Angels Preschool. Today’s Hope’s share day, and she said she forgot her stuffed friend on the breakfast table.” The woman lowers her voice. “I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the workday, but she’s taking it pretty hard.”
Instead of show and tell, Hope’s school does share day. They each get one day a month to bring in something special from home and share it with the class. Hope looks forward to her share day only marginally less than Christmas. “It’s no problem. I’m on my way now.”
“Oh, thanks so much!” Janie says.
We say our goodbyes, and I head out to my truck while calling Amy. It’s not like her to forget Hope’s things, but our lives have become a little more chaotic since we started this shared-custody thing, and details slip through the cracks sometimes.
When I get her voicemail, I try her work line, but that goes to voicemail too. Figures—she’s always in a meeting or on her way to another. “Hey, Ames. Hope left her share-day toy on the table. I’m just going to swing by your place and grab it for her. Talk to you later.”
Within five minutes, I’m pulling into Amy’s driveway. The sight of her house makes my gut twist. This little bungalow is the physical embodiment of my divorce. It’s weird that a house could upset me more than any of the other thousand things that changed when she left, but this place has always made me sad. Home was supposed to be where we were all together. Now that doesn’t exist.
Pushing aside my angst, I climb out of the truck and use the key she gave me to let myself in.
The foyer looks right into the living room, where Amy’s straddling someone on the couch, her head thrown back, wild blond curls everywhere, tits bouncing as she moans.
Why didn’t I knock?
“Shit!” I turn around and walk right back out the door, slamming it behind me.
“Kace!” she shouts, but I’m already heading to my car.
I yank my door open, throw my phone in the passenger seat, and slide in. Squeezing the steering wheel, I force myself to draw in a deep breath. It takes every ounce of my will not to storm in there and start swinging my fists at whomever she had beneath her. It’s not my right. She’s not my wife. But, fuck, it’s like my heart never got the memo, because it’s pounding so fast, so hard, and it just hurts so fucking much I have to shut my eyes.
The rap on my window has me opening them again. Amy’s standing outside my truck in her fluffy pink robe. My first thought is surprise that she still has it. I bought it for her at Christmas a few years ago, and when she opened it, she made a comment about nothing saying the spice is gone like a terry cloth robe instead of lingerie. The off-hand remark pissed me off, but it wasn’t until after we’d tucked our exhausted toddler into bed that she said she needed me to at least pretend I still thought she was sexy, even if it wasn’t true. I told her she was being ridiculous and that I’d never stopped finding her sexy, that she was the one who’d been pulling away when I tried to touch her, that we hadn’t had sex in months. She said she couldn’t be the woman from my fantasies when she was busy being the mother to our child.
She slept on the couch that night, and even though she came back to our bed after that, our sex life never improved. But apparently hers has since she left.
Her face is screwed up in a frown. “Kace, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you knock.”
I should step out of the truck and have this conversation somewhere other than the middle of her driveway. I should give her a chance to change out of that fucking robe, but I don’t trust myself not to go after the fucker inside, so I roll down my window. “I didn’t knock,” I say, shifting my gaze back to the house. I can’t look at her without seeing her as she was when I walked in that door. The ecstasy on her face. When was the last time I made her look like that? “I thought you were at work.”
“I took the day off.” She gives a tentative smile. “That was super awkward, so I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you it’s best to knock in the future?”
“No shit,” I mutter, jaw tight. “Who is he?”
“What?”
“The guy who was just giving my wife a ride.” I look at her now, needing to meet her eyes, even though I know my anger and this feeling of betrayal in my gut are equally irrational. Her eyes are wide. “Who. The fuck. Is he?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head and looks away for five aching thumps of my heart. When she turns back to me, her face is hard, her expression pained. “Kace, I’m not your wife. And I haven’t hidden the fact that I’ve moved on—emotionally and physically.” She swallows. “I wish you would too.”
I look out my window toward the house. The asshole’s still in there. Is it serious? Will he want to marry Amy? Will Hope call him Daddy? Fuck. “Hope left her share-day toy on the table. I was here to take it in for you, but it looks like you’re available and can do it yourself.”
Amy’s eyes fill with tears. “Don’t act like I just cheated on you. That’s not fair.”
“I know.” I turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. “That’s why I need to get out of here.”
* * *
At the end of the day, I collapse into bed and stare at the ceiling. I’m exhausted but wide awake. I’m pissed at Amy for bringing her boyfriend—or whatever—into the house where my daughter spends half her nights, and I’m even more pissed at myself for caring. I knew she’d been dating, figured she’d had sex since she moved out. But there’s a big difference between knowing and seeing it.
I pull my phone from my pocket and open Random. Maybe Itsy’s around. A chat with her might clear my mind.
GoodHands69: I walked in on my ex-wife fucking someone else today.
I send it before rereading the words, then flinch when I realize I can’t take it back. I close my eyes and drop my phone to the mattress. I am officially the clichéd divorced guy who obsesses over his ex’s new life. I don’t want to be like this, but I need to talk about it.
Abbi would rant and rave and get in a huff about how I should’ve fought for primary custody, and I’d end up having to defend Amy. I could call Dean, and he’d listen and make all the right sympathetic noises, but he thinks I should’ve moved on by now. He’s second only to Amy in how much he’s been pushing me to “get back out there” and “leave the past in the past.” But I don’t want to resent him for trying to be a good friend and tell me to get the fuck over it. So here I am, confiding in my match on a hookup app.
When my phone buzzes, I’m almost afraid to look at it. What’s she going to think of the fact that I still care about Amy sleeping with someone else?
I make myself look.
ItsyBitsy123: I am so sorry. Did you immediately start drinking? I think I would have.
A weight lifts from my shoulders as I read and reread the message. God, I needed this.
GoodHands69: Thank you for not judging me. I know I shouldn’t care, and I’m trying not to, but it turns
out that’s way easier on an intellectual level. Actually seeing her with someone else? Well, I could’ve happily died without that.
ItsyBitsy123: No shit. She was your WIFE.
GoodHands69: Exactly. It’s like I need to do a factory reset on my brain.
ItsyBitsy123: Are you okay? Want to meet up for a drink or something? I’d be drinking the shit out of my feelings right now if I were you.
I hold my breath as I consider this. Hope is already in bed, and I could get Abbi to come over to babysit. She’s always offering.
I try to imagine what it’d be like to meet up with Itsy. I’d get to see what she looks like, see if there’s any spark between us in person. I have to admit I’m curious, but I can’t start a physical relationship with this girl while I’m still messing around with Stella. I don’t have it in me.
GoodHands69: Do you mind if I take a rain check? I’m not in the right headspace for a meetup tonight, and not big on drinking my feelings to begin with.
ItsyBitsy123: That’s very mature of you.
GoodHands69: Nice of you to say. Everyone else in my life seems to think I’m reacting to my divorce like a heartbroken teenager.
ItsyBitsy123: I think you’re reacting like a man who loved his wife with everything he had. Maybe she didn’t deserve that love, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t feel it.
I shake my head. As good as it feels to talk to someone who assumes I’m the good guy, I can’t do that to Amy.
GoodHands69: Amy deserved it. She deserved more. I just haven’t figured out what that more is yet. I wish someone could show me a map of my marriage and point to the place where I made the wrong turn. I fucking tried, and it wasn’t enough. If I understood, maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of trying again with someone else.
* * *
Stella
I might not have the map to Kace’s marriage, but I know more about where it went wrong than he realizes. I’d assumed that, as they worked their way through the divorce, Amy would’ve admitted the truth about her mistakes, but the poking I’ve done and the things he’s said about the marriage he misses so dearly have led me to believe he still doesn’t know the truth. Now, I’m sure of it.
“You’re glued to your phone tonight,” Savannah says as she hands me a full glass of wine from the opposite side of her big kitchen island.
I smile. “Sorry. I promise I’m almost done.”
GoodHands69: I’m sorry to go on like this. I’m sure I sound like another pathetic divorced dude who’s hung up on his wife.
I shake my head and tap out a response.
“Take your time,” Savvy says, pulling out her own phone.
ItsyBitsy123: I don’t think you’re pathetic for being hung up on Amy. You were in love with her, and you had plans for your life together that you don’t want to give up. I only wish she deserved your devotion. More soon. Having an impromptu girls’ night.
I darken the screen and slide my phone back into my purse. “Now I’m done with that and can give you my full attention. How’s Alec?” I should probably be home studying right now, but when Savvy found me at the end of my shift at The Orchid and asked if I wanted to come to her place for a glass of wine, I jumped at the chance. And then Kace started messaging me the minute I parked, and now I wish I were at home so we could message back and forth all night again.
She shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. Don’t dodge. I want to know who just had your attention so completely that you didn’t even notice when I pulled out the wine. New guy in your life?”
I bite my bottom lip. “Not exactly.”
Savvy arches a perfect blond brow. “Explain, please.”
I take one gulp of my wine and then another.
“Stella.” She folds her arms. “Spill.”
“I’ve been talking to someone on Random,” I say.
“I thought you were swearing off that app,” she says, but her tone is curious, not judgmental. Savvy’s a bit like me in that she struggles in the relationship department. That was until last October, when she went with Brinley to Vegas and hooked up with Marston’s best friend and business partner, Alec. There’s no way anyone could call a night with a guy like Alec unlucky. But Alec’s based in L.A. and Savvy doesn’t want to do the long-distance thing, so despite him calling her regularly and sending her flowers, she insists they’re just friends and going to stay that way.
“I got on Monday night out of habit more than anything, and I almost got right back off, but then I saw Kace had swiped on me.”
Her eyes widen, then she blinks. “Kace Matthews?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not some guy using his picture or pretending to be him.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s definitely Kace, and I already knew he’d been using Random. He told me he was going to give it a try.”
She sips her wine. “Wow. Go, Kace. I rescind my previous criticism. I guess decent guys do occasionally use that app.” She smiles slowly. “And good thing, because now he’s finally giving you a chance. Sweet Lord, it’s about time.”
I swallow hard then swirl my wine. “Whatever this thing is between us, it started before we connected on Random. We . . .” I blow out a breath. “We were going to hook up at his party, but then Dean asked if I could move in, and Kace shut it down, which was understandable. I was ready to let it go until he reached out to me on Random and said he wanted to connect on there because it’s less intimidating somehow.” I shake my head, not sure how to explain why that made so much sense to me at the time. “And we just talk on there, and it’s good. And yesterday morning, he was at Mom’s to do some work, and I pulled him into my bedroom and we . . . did stuff.”
“Get it, girl!” She beams as if she’s been on a personal mission to get me into Kace Matthews’ bed. “And was that good?”
I bite my lip, but a pathetic whimper escapes anyway. “So good. The man has a mouth on him, and I’m not just talking about his spectacular kissing skills.”
She grins, but it falls away. “Why do I feel like there’s a big but coming?”
I wrap my hands around my glass. “Savvy, it’s like he’s really seeing me as more than this space-case party girl for the first time. He’s been opening up to me, and I’ve been opening up to him. This is becoming more than the physical fling we planned.”
Savvy sighs. “But?” she asks softly.
“But he’s seeing someone else.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. How’d you find out?”
I laugh. “He told me. Twice, actually. He was so sweet about it too. Like, hey, I know this is supposed to be casual, but I wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t know.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all. He really is one of the good ones.” She grabs the bottle of wine and tops off my glass, even though I’ve barely sipped at it.
“As much as I want to be the kind of girl he’d choose, part of me knows that’s a pipe dream.”
“You don’t know that.”
But I do. If Bobby couldn’t handle the skeletons in my closet, then Kace never will. My eyes flare hot, and Savvy becomes a blur as tears well. “I’m gonna get hurt, but I’ve never had anything like this, and I . . .” My throat feels too tight to finish.
“You think he might be worth getting hurt for,” she says.
I nod. “I want to know what it’s like to be treated right. Even if it’s temporary.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Maybe he’ll want to treat you right for longer than that. Maybe this is a piece of good that’ll stay in your life, Stella. Kace is smart. Give him a chance, and he’ll see you’re worth it.”
Chapter Twelve
Kace
Dean turns in a slow circle in the middle of the pool house. “Jesus, maybe I should let Stella have my place and I can move in here.”
“You’d really give up your house to live in a tiny pool house? In my backyard?” I arch a brow. “Because Stella might take you up o
n it.” And that might be for the best. As much as I enjoy talking to Itsy on Random, the Stella fantasies are still coming at me full tilt.
“Nah. I love you and Hope, but this is a little too close. It’ll be perfect for Stella, though.”
Dean, Smithy, and I have been working the last two days to clear out the old stuff that was stored in the loft and main room. Some of it needed to be donated, some organized and moved to the main house, and some just needed to be pitched. Why was I saving the box full of Amy’s college essays? Right, because she always wanted to keep them, but once it came time to find a space for them in her new house, she didn’t want them anymore. She told me to throw them out, and I just . . . couldn’t. Today, I did, and I’m going to call that progress. I think Itsy would be proud of me. Maybe I’ll tell her . . . if she ever responds to the message I sent this morning. It wasn’t much—just asking how she slept and thanking her again for last night.
“Why would you want Dean back here?” Smithy asks, eyes wide. “Fuck, man. Stella in a bikini every time you look out your window? Sign me up.”
“Smithy,” Dean says, “just because someone lives in a pool house doesn’t mean they’re out at the pool all the time.”
When Smithy turns to me, it’s with an expression so tragic that you’d think someone just told him he has testicular cancer and is going to have to forfeit his balls. “Bummer, man.”