I wake up with Chelle’s naked back pressed up against my chest, my arm draped around her. God, just the sensation of my bare skin next to hers is enough to get me hard. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I tighten my grip and bury my face in her hair. She smells like sex and mango body wash, which I never thought is a combination I’d love. I kiss her bare shoulder, my cock rising further when I hear her stir out of her sleep. The sheets rustle as she turns over to meet me, a slow smile washing over her face. Fuck, I’m ready for another round. Like three last night wasn’t enough.

“How are you feeling today?” she whispers against my mouth.

Besides unimaginably horny, I feel alive. It’s a good goddamn feeling.

“Let me show you,” I murmur, guiding her hot little hand to my cock. She grins and kisses me deeper. I’m about to slip my hand between her legs and help her along when there’s a clattering sound downstairs. It’s like someone banging the cupboard doors to see how much noise they can make.

Fuck, it’s an intruder. Chelle’s eyes widen as I leap out of bed. My erection’s going to have to wait a while as I take a flying leap into my clothes, grab a baseball bat from near the closet, and head downstairs. If the motherfucker has a gun, there’s not much I’ll be able to do.

Taking it slower, I ease down the stairs and look around the corner into the kitchen. There I find…

Suzonne. In the kitchen. With a stack of dishes. It’s the worst game of Clue ever devised, and that game is stupid to begin with.

“The hell? What are you doing here?” I put the bat down at least and walk over to meet my ex, who’s now got a look of sheer, angry concentration on her face. She puts the plates down, adding a couple of coffee mugs to the mix.

“Look, I don’t need this bad energy right now.” She says it like I’m the one who’s being unreasonable.

“Suze, you broke into my condo. Bad energy is par for the course.” I take the mugs out of her hand and put them back. She pouts, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t break in. I have a key.”

“Amelia has a key,” I correct her, stacking the dishes back as well. My head is throbbing, my brain threatening to pool out my ears. How can I go from being hard and happy to this in ten seconds flat? This divorce can’t go through soon enough.

I look around for Amelia…and don’t see her.

It’s Saturday. Which means she’s not at school. Which means…

“Suzonne. Where’s Amelia?” I say it with enough calm precision that she knows it’s not a light question.

She throws up her hands, again, like I’m unreasonable. “She’s fine. Someone’s staying with her at the yurt.”

My temples throb, and I know it’s important to keep calm right now, but fuck me if it’s nearly impossible. “You know I hate leaving her with strangers up there. More than that, we agreed it wasn’t going to happen anymore.”

“D’Andrei is not a stranger.” She looks honestly hurt by that. “You think I’d leave our baby with some weird man?”

Every person in that yurt commune seems certifiable to me, so I decide not to answer that one. Besides, D’onkey or what’s his fuck is a grown ass man watching over my ten year old, and I have thoughts about this. Major fucking thoughts.

“What are you doing here?” I finally close the cupboard door. Suzonne huffs, playing with the beaded edge of her blouse. That’s a surefire sign she fucked up and knows it.

“Some of our things were stolen,” she mutters.

All right, head clear now. I lean against the counter. “Someone from the commune?” Of course.

Suzonne huffs. “It’s not about private property, you know. It’s agreed that we all share and share alike. So, it’s not stolen. More like…borrowed.”

“What else did they borrow?”

She gets super quiet. “Amelia’s hoodie.”

The one with the mouse ears? Her favorite article of clothing on the planet? Now I see red, because I know how upset she’s going to be and I want to murder the jackass who thought taking a little girl’s things is in any way all right.

“She doesn’t have another of those lying around. Let me guess, she burst into tears when she found out and you couldn’t handle it, so you had to come over here and see if there’s a replacement you can give her? Well, you can’t.”

“Don’t yell at me over some stupid material possession! That’s your problem, Will.” She all but jabs me in the chest with her finger, which is the wrong thing to do. “You prioritize things.”

“I prioritize my daughter’s fucking happiness, which is something you don’t seem to give a shit about.” I swear, I think my goddamn head’s about to explode. “I never wanted Amelia living with those assholes up in the canyon because I knew this would happen.”

Suzonne snorts. “Oh, because you’re always so present, aren’t you? So much that you came back early from Japan, of all places, and we didn’t hear anything about it! I didn’t expect you to be home.” She’s saying this like it’s an argument, and what’s pissing me off is the fact that it actually is. I got home, and I had an excuse about not calling Amelia—namely that she was at her mother’s for the weekend. They never get to have weekends together. But still, I got off the plane and the first thing I could think about was Chelle.

Oh, fuck. If she comes downstairs right now, Suzonne’s going to remember her. If she remembers her, then the job at Bay of Dreams is ashed in a second. I check the stairs fast, and she’s not there. Good. Stay naked and out of this.

“Look, you never get weekends with Amelia. Frankly, I wanted to give you the chance for some bonding time, but apparently that means letting assholes steal her favorite things. That hoodie had meaning for her, Suzonne. I know it seems stupid to you to get attached to anything, but Amelia’s a kid. Kids love their toys and their games. Kids love lots of things, including their idiot parents. Amelia would do anything to make you happy. So if the only way you can get close to our daughter is to starve her, make her think she’s fat and disgusting, and not bat an eye when creepy motherfuckers who probably worship My Little Pony sneak off with her favorite clothes, then why don’t you let her live with me fulltime? Why are you pretending to give a shit?”

Fuck. I didn’t mean to start yelling, but this morning took such a hard goddamn turn in the wrong direction that I can’t stop myself. When I’m done, it seems like the entire kitchen’s holding its breath, waiting to see what Suzonne’s going to do.

To the side, I hear the telltale squeak of a floorboard. Fuck. Chelle’s standing on the top of the staircase, but she’s not coming down. Good. Hopefully she put some clothes on, because if Suzonne catches her I really don’t want it to look like what it exactly is.

Then Suzonne’s eyes fill with tears. If you ever want to feel your balls swallow themselves up into your body, make a woman cry. Even if it’s justified, you will feel like the world’s biggest goddamn monster.

“I…I feel so lost all the time now.” Suzonne’s now sobbing, her shoulders shaking as she buries her face in her hands. “I know Amelia hates the yurt.”

Holy shit, that’s the first time I’ve heard her admit it. I hold out a hand to her, just to give her a reassuring touch. She takes that as an invitation to launch herself onto me, clinging around my waist. My entire body stiffens, though she doesn’t seem to notice. Christ. I check out the corner of my eye, and still see Chelle’s bare feet on the top step. How do I negotiate this without either revealing the woman I’m sleeping with or hurting the woman who’s already sobbing in my arms?

And when the hell did my life become this much of a soap opera? I’m not made for this shit. Last night, all I wanted was some teriyaki and some sex. Why is that so hard?

“We can talk about this in mediation,” I tell Suzonne gently, inching her away until she’s no longer wrapped around me. She sniffs, and pulls out a packet of tissues from her purse. They look like they’re made of biodegradable tree pulp, so good for her. She dabs at her eyes and blows her nose.

“See, this is what I mean.” She’s pissed at me again, but at least she’s not crying. “I have this emotional outpouring and you don’t want to respond to it. You want to talk about it with our lawyers. Well, I can’t live like this anymore!” Now we’re right back to yelling. Who can keep up with this?

Then Suzonne stomps out into my front hall—fuck, right where she’s got the perfect spot to look up and see Chelle. I walk with her, ready to dive in front of my ex if need be. But Chelle’s gone, thank god.

I open the door for Suzonne, who looks about ready to start running.

“Look. Tell me what you need, and I’ll order it for you. If you need a place to stay, I’ll pay for it. Just do me a favor and get my kid out of that damn canyon.”

“Your kid. Of course. She’s always your kid when you want to take her out for ice cream or movies or show her what a monster I am in comparison.” Suzonne narrows her eyes. “Do you know how she’s going to feel when I tell her that Daddy came home and didn’t even call her? She’s going to be heartbroken. You only want her around when it’s good for you.”

That’s it. “When this divorce finally goes through, I’m going to fight like hell to get sole custody.”

“That is never going to happen. Spiritually, it is better for children to be with their mothers!”

“Spiritually speaking, you’re talking out your ass. Go back to D’Artagnan and tell him to keep his hands off my kid. I’ll be over in two hours to pick Amelia up, so have her ready to go.” As Suzonne steps out, I snap, “And I’ll get you your fucking dishes, since that’s what you really came here for.”

“We need another hoodie,” Suzonne snaps back, like that will somehow win her the argument.

Slamming the door shut, I then lean my forehead against the wall and breathe the anger out. That’s one thing the therapist told us when we were in counseling: take your anger away in your own time so that you can experience it fully. Frankly, that was the only part of those crackpot sessions that did anything for me. That and learning that I need to let my Jungian shadow out more, or some shit.

Finally, I walk back up to the bedroom, where I find Chelle throwing on her clothes. Christ, I didn’t want her to see that. I don’t think there’s a way back to the almost-fucking we were doing, but I go to her anyway.

She dodges around me, like she’s trying to do anything she can to avoid touching me. Christ, what the hell is this?

“I know that wasn’t the best thing to see first thing in the morning,” I begin, before she cuts in.

“You haven’t gone through with the divorce yet?” She’s making the bed with a ferocity that would be sexy if it didn’t look like she wanted to throttle the pillows.

“We’re still in mediation. We don’t want to make things too drawn out in court, especially when it comes to Amelia.” I’m not going to grovel about this shit. My kid has to come first, even if I don’t call her the second I land after a long business trip.

That sounded a lot more responsible and caring before I thought it.

“Okay.” She sounds distant when she says it, which is the opposite of what I want. I want the fiery woman who yells about everything, from what happened to my marriage to what kind of soap she should buy. This quiet is out of character for her, and that’s why it’s bad.

“It’s going to go through. We just need a little more time.”

“Sure. Fine.” She neatens the comforter about three times, then picks up her jacket and slips it on. “I should go. I need to go now.”

“What’s wrong?” Goddamn it, I can’t do this right now.

Chelle looks up at me; fuck, her eyes are bright with tears. Why am I such a shitty human being? What kind of man makes two women start crying before ten in the morning?

“I didn’t know that you came to me without calling Amelia.”

I get the feeling this can either go spectacularly well or not, so I wait.

“See, I used to date this asshole who would go months without calling his kid. Then, out of the blue, he suddenly decided he needed to have another baby with his ex to give his kid someone to play with.” Her voice falters here, and she stares down at her hands. “He also told me he and his ex were through, but then they ended up having that second child together. I couldn’t trust him.”

“Chelle, it’s not like that.” I try to approach her calmly, talk to her.

Before I can make that move, she grabs her purse and nearly flings herself out of the room. Jesus. I go down the stairs after her, but the door’s open by the time I get halfway down. She’s like a ninja when she wants to be.

“Chelle!”

By the time I’m in the hallway, I can see the elevator doors closing. Fuck! I don’t care that my shirt’s half unbuttoned, I take the stairs. By the time I hit the lobby, no one’s there. She’s not on the street. Her car’s gone.

She’s gone.