“What would you have done if he’d said yes? Are you crazy?” Lola’s eyes widen, and I shrug.
“Maybe.” I lean back against my black Range Rover. “I don’t know.”
She stares at me for a moment. “Are you sure it’s not the company? Maybe he is having trouble at work.”
I shake my head. “No. I’d know if it were in trouble. Besides, I’ve asked him that a few times already.”
I’d know if it were because he’s the CEO of Vandellen Logistics. And I know a lot of his close co-workers and their wives. The gossip would run rampant if there were problems.
“Fuck me, Lia,” she blurts, scrubbing a palm over her mouth before quickly glancing around to make sure that none of the stuffy moms nearby heard her. Not that she’d usually care, but Bonnets Bay Preparatory has some first-class bitches who become rabid with any sign of trash on their beloved school grounds.
Lola isn’t trash at all. She’s a high school teacher, and her husband, Trey, has his own carpentry business in the city. But anyone who doesn’t drive a car worth over fifty thousand dollars automatically earns an entry into the ‘not good enough’ category in their little black books of snobbery.
“Where the hell do you go from here?” She lowers her voice. “You can’t keep living like this.”
I heave out a weary sigh, looking down at the pointed toes of my boots. “I have no idea.”
“Oh, shhh. Here comes Fiona,” she whispers.
I look up to see Fiona’s smiling face approaching us. She set her pretty green eyes on us the first day our kids started kindergarten together, and we took her under our wing. She’s beautiful but can also be a little snotty. She’s nice, though—well, to us anyway. The three of us kind of clicked, and we’ve been friends with her ever since.
“Afternoon, ladies,” she says brightly. “I couldn’t help but overhear that Natasha’s son has a girlfriend. Crazy, right?” She laughs.
“Seriously? They start that early these days?” Lola looks concerned, which is fair enough. Her daughter, Sophie, is a stunning girl with blond hair and big, bright blue eyes.
Fiona shrugs. “Apparently.” She turns to me. “Hey, are you still volunteering at that homeless shelter?”
She asks me this all the time, but I nod. “Yeah, I’m heading in for my shift tomorrow.”
“Oh, good, back in a sec!” She races back off to her car just as the bell rings, signaling the end of the school day.
“That guy still hitting on you there?” Lola smirks at me.
I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, my God, yes.”
She nudges me. “How old did you say he was again?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I think I heard one of the girls there say twenty-six or twenty-seven.”
She guffaws. “You go, girl. See, you’ve still got it. More than got it. So don’t you worry about that.”
I smile thinly, watching as our kids race out of the school.
I’m not worried. Despite changing my hair and my other desperate attempts to get him to notice me, I know I’m far from ugly. But just because I take care of and feel good about myself doesn’t mean I’m what Leo wants anymore.
“Mommy!” Greta yells, crashing into my legs. “Adam lost a tooth today! In class! There was blood everywhere!”
My eyes widen theatrically. “Oh, my goodness, did he keep it for the tooth fairy?”
She nods frantically. “Yes, I made sure he did.”
Smiling, I lean down to kiss her head as Charlie approaches. I ruffle his blond hair. “Hey, little man. How was your day?”
“Charlie got real mad at someone,” Sophie informs me from beside us.
Lola frowns down at her. “Soph …”
“No, it’s okay,” I tell her and look at Charlie. “What happened?”
He merely shrugs. “Aaron was annoying me. So I told him not to.” He opens the door and climbs into the car, shutting it without another word.
I glance at Lola, who tries for a smile. “Bad day maybe?”
But she and I both know his outbursts are becoming more than what we can keep explaining away as a bad day.
We say goodbye, and I make sure both kids have their seat belts on. I’m about to climb in the car when I see Fiona racing back over, dragging her twin boys, Henry and Rupert, and a large garbage bag with her.
“Sorry, here.” She passes over the bag. “If you could drop it in for me, that’d be fantastic. I’ve got so much to do tomorrow.” She huffs out a breath.
I open the trunk and throw it in the back, closing it before saying, “Thank you. But seriously, you donate all the time. How the hell do you have anything left in your house?”
I swear she gives me a bag every month.
She laughs, the sound like wind chimes as it floats off into the warm early autumn air around us. “Nonsense. You know me, I have a bit of a problem with shopping. And if I don’t turn out the old to make room for the new, Dylan is bound to notice how bad it’s gotten.” She then glares at her boys. “Not a word or no Xbox for a month.” They both nod, a little wide-eyed.
I laugh, thanking her again and getting into the car.
Once home, I unpack the kids’ bags as they head into the living room to eat a snack and watch TV. I know Charlie isn’t going to want to talk to me about what happened at school. His father is the only one who can usually get stuff out of him, but I have to try.
I put their lunchboxes in the dishwasher and grab my coffee, heading into the living room and taking a seat beside him on the couch. I take a few sips from my mug and place it down on the coffee table, putting my arm behind his head and bringing him into my side.
“You okay?” I ask quietly. Thankfully, a music app on his sister’s iPad keeps her preoccupied.
He doesn’t answer. Just rests his head against the side of my chest as I smooth his hair back from his face.
“What happened? Why’d you yell at Aaron?”
And still, he stares at the TV, but I wait.
Finally, he says, “He was annoying me. I already told you that.”
“Charlie,” I warn. “Please, just tell me what happened. I want to help.”
“What’s for dinner?” He tries to deflect.
My shoulders droop with my sigh as I sit back and tilt my face to the ceiling.
I don’t know whether to keep pushing or finally admit he’s just like his father. Stubborn and resolved to work out whatever issues he has on his own.
Picking the clothes up from the bathroom floor, I toss them into the hamper and mop up some water with a towel. I hear the garage door leading to the kitchen open downstairs as I throw the towel in the hamper before going back down.
Worry and trepidation fill every step I take, which is ridiculous. This man is supposed to be my best friend, my lover, my husband. I shouldn’t be afraid to ask him for something.
Yet I am. I’m stupidly nervous as hell.
I walk into the kitchen, pouring myself half a glass of wine and drinking it down quickly while he sorts through the mail at the other counter with his back to me.
He must have gone for a swim after work. His hair is wet, and he’s in jeans and a t-shirt instead of his suit. He goes to the gym to work out, but swimming is what he’s always enjoyed doing to unwind after a stressful day. I guess today was one of them.
Maybe I should wait …
No, Charlie can’t wait.
“How was your day?” I ask quietly, leaning back against the counter behind me.
“Fine. Where are the kids?” He scans a letter before setting it down with what I’m guessing are other bills.
“Upstairs. They’ve just taken a shower, and they’re waiting for you.”
He grunts, tossing the unwanted junk mail and envelopes into the trash and heading out of the kitchen.
“Wait, please,” I croak.
He stops but doesn’t turn around to face me.
“Charlie had a fight with a boy at school today.”
He turns around then, his eyes landing on me for the first time since he got home. But his features stay hard, his stance almost tense as he looks at me.
“Is he hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, at least not physically. But Sophie said that he got pretty angry with one of the boys in their class. He’s acting like it’s no big deal, and he won’t talk to me.” I run a hand through my hair. “Can you …?” I trail off.
“I’ll talk to him.” He leaves, and I stand here, thinking I should feel relieved that he said he would. But I just feel … drained. Like that brief conversation shouldn’t have expended the emotional energy it did.
Deciding to run myself a bath, I head upstairs and hear soft murmurs come from our son’s bedroom as I walk past his closed door. Stripping my clothes off, I grab a pair of panties, sleep shorts, and a t-shirt before locking myself in the bathroom and waiting as the big corner bath fills with hot, bubbly water.
Climbing in, I tie my hair up on top of my head and slide down until the water covers my shoulders. I leave the water running—better to hide the sound of the impending sobs clawing their way up my throat. I don’t often do this. Wallowing in self-pity isn’t usually my style. The sad thing is, I probably don’t need to do this nearly as much as I used to.
But tonight, the hurt needs to be let out again.
So I let it out, holding a washcloth up to my mouth to muffle the sound of my heart breaking for the thousandth time over the past seven months.
It’s moments like these, as hot tears race each other down my cheeks, I beg my heart to hate him.
But it’s a damn fool because it never listens to me.