Chapter Eighteen

Sawyer

“What do you want, Carrie?” I ask when I’m certain AJ is out of earshot.

“Now, now, now,” she starts, walking my way, her high heels crisscrossing in front of her with each step she takes, “is that any way to greet your wife?”

“Ex-wife, Carrie. Ex.” I stand my ground, trying to keep my distance from her. First off, I don’t want her to touch me any more than she already has today, but I’d never want AJ to walk in and see her hands on me.

She tsks and waves her hand. “On paper, maybe, but we’ll always be married.”

“Not even a little bit,” I ground out. She’s quickly grating on my nerves and has just about overstayed her welcome. “Why are you here?”

“Is this about the new little tart you have waiting for you in the kitchen? I’m sure she’s fun and all,” she says, glancing up to where AJ’s panties hang above our heads, “but you’ll be bored in no time. You always are.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? I wasn’t the one who couldn’t be faithful, Carrie. That was you.”

“That was a mistake,” she retorts. “I was willing to overlook all of your indiscretions, and I would think that you’d be able to do the same.”

“Not happening,” I state.

“Too bad,” she tsks again with her pouty face, a sound that has always been like nails on a chalkboard and a look that usually means she has information she’s about to use to her benefit.

“Just spill it. I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here on a Sunday just to shoot the shit and catch up. What do you want?”

She seems to stand a little taller. “How much do you know about this woman?” she asks, gently nodding in the direction AJ just headed.

“What does this have to do with her?”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my mind starting to race. Yet, I know Carrie loves to get a rise out of me, so I school my features and pretend whatever she’s about to say won’t affect me. “I know enough.”

“So you know all about the marriage she broke up about two years ago? Your little AJ has a habit of screwing around with married men, Sawyer. In fact, he’s not the first Miss Alison Jane Summer has been with who was married to another woman while they were together. I found it a little odd that the man who is so quick to condemn would take a woman like that to his bed,” she says stepping into my personal space, the familiar scent of her too-expensive perfume tickling my nose, “but then I wondered…did he really know? Was he aware of the inappropriate behavior of the woman he’s sleeping with?”

A ball of something hard swells in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “How do you even know this? What does my love life have to do with you?”

“Besides the fact that we’re married and I care for you?” she asks, buffing her nails on the bodice of her dress.

“We’re not married. Haven’t been since we both signed on the dotted line. So I ask again: why do you care?”

“Because, believe it or not, Sawyer, I still care for you greatly. And I don’t want to see you get hurt by some tramp who sleeps around as easily as the sun rises in the morning.”

Anger sweeps through me at her words. “Get out!”

“But, Sawyer…”

“No, we’re done. Thank you for the information, but I don’t need it.” Grabbing the doorknob, I hold her exit open and wait for her to get the hint.

As she reaches the threshold, she glances at me over her shoulder. “I just know how much you despise users,” she states boldly, the knife of her words twisting deeply in my chest. She knows all my weaknesses, my fears.

Bitch.

But even as I shut the door, cutting off any further chance of looking at her, my gut churns with worry.

I realize I’m still standing behind the closed door, even after I hear a car in the driveway start and pull away. I need to go into the kitchen where AJ is, but my head is buzzing with too many questions. Instead of going where I should, I head up the stairs and into my room. It’s quiet there, almost painfully so.

Carrie is a master at playing me, manipulating me as well as the situation, for her betterment. Today is no different. I should say, “Fuck her”, return downstairs, take AJ in my arms, and forget about the interruption that was my ex-wife.

But I can’t let it go.

How well do I know AJ? Sure, I know how to play her body like a professional athlete, but what about that other shit Carrie spewed? The affairs? I have a hard time imagining AJ being the homewrecker Carrie made her out to be. And how the fuck does she know so much about AJ anyway?

She’s knows people, that’s how.

When Carrie wants something, Carrie gets it, by any means possible.

I’ve seen her use PIs to find out details of those in her industry. Hell, I’m certain she was behind half the incriminating photos that were constantly leaked to the media. No, there were never any affairs, on my part, but I always looked like the bad guy.

And Carrie always came out smelling like a fucking rose.

Like now. Best interest at heart? I smell ulterior motives.

A knock sounds at the door behind me. “Hey, everything okay?”

I clear my throat and turn to face AJ. “Uhhh, yeah. Sorry about that interruption.”

“It’s okay. I made dinner, if you’re still hungry,” she adds, pointing down the stairs.

“Actually, I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Oh, okay. I can put it in the fridge and we can heat it up after we get back tonight,” she says breezily, though my own heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest.

I realize she’s talking about going to the hospital. She’s going to meet her new nephews tonight, and asked me to go with her. Of course I fucking said yes. I want to go. Or at least, I did want to go before Carrie showed up and fucked with my head again. I should throw on some shoes and head out the door, but my feet are rooted to the hardwood.

“Why don’t you go ahead and see your family,” I suggest, averting my eyes so I don’t have to see the pain I’m sure is there. It hurts me to say it, but I need a little time to just think. I need to run, to clear my mind, and to think.

“Oh, okay,” she says.

Even though I don’t look, she stands beside me for a few heart-pounding moments before heading to the bathroom to collect her things. I hear her scoop up her toothbrush and whatever other girly things she brought and had on my vanity. I’ll completely ignore how good it felt stepping out of my shower earlier to see it there mixed with my shit. It was too nice, too comforting.

She steps out of the bathroom, her bag thrown over her shoulder. She glances around, searching the room to make sure she has everything. I want to tell her to leave it all, to come back later, and stay one more night, but I know I can’t. Not right now.

“I guess I’ll talk to you later,” she says, her sweet voice laced with uncertainty. She’s completely leaving her statement open for me to add to, but like the stupid fucker I am, I keep quiet.

“Yeah,” I reply, scratching my head. “Have fun at the hospital.”

She doesn’t reply, which is like a neon sign with a bullhorn blasting how badly I’m messing this up. When I glance up, it’s like a punch in the gut. No, I think I’d rather take a straight hit with a two-by-four upside the head than see that look on her beautiful face. And, of course, the fact that I put that look there is another reason I need to step back and think. Because if I go all in with this woman, I’ll vow to never witness a look like this ever again.

If you ever get the chance again, dumbass.

She doesn’t speak as she turns and slips out of my room. Her footfalls echo down the stairs and into the foyer. I stand right where I am because I’m not strong enough to watch her leave. The fear that I might not ever see her descend my stairs or feel her presence in my house makes my chest feel like someone is carving out my heart (with a butter knife).

The door opens and closes, and my feet finally move. I head down the stairs and to the front door. I pull it open just as her car is turning and driving down the lane. Taillights glowing, I watch her turn onto the road and out of sight.

I just fucked up.

Bad.

I know it, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to fix it.