“There you go.” I shoved his shoulder. “You’re right, I’m not a good husband and my marriage is done. Hewasa good husband, and I’m sure he’ll make some other man happy one day soon.” I rubbed at my ring and hated to say the words out loud, but they’d been festering inside me since the day I signed on the dotted line. “This is fine. We’re both moving forward.”
Antoine glanced around and waited until I was glaring at him to meet my eye again. “This seems more like moving backward.”
“You can kindly, and with all due respect, fuck off.”
Antoine stood and took out his keys, staring at me so long I began to feel like a bug. “I suppose you don’t want to know why I tracked you down in person?”
“If it’s anything to do with an implosion at work, I’m not interested until tomorrow morning. I’m tired,” I mumbled, and I meant it. I’d been running on fumes for weeks, maybe longer, and I was done with life at the moment.
Antoine crossed his arms.
“I think I’m going to put the Vert Island house up for sale. What do you think it will go for? Ten million? The housing market is hot. I only paid eight for it. That would be nice. You can pick where we settle next. Let your wife decide.”
“That’s too bad.” He jangled his keys, and I glanced at him. “I think Noah liked it there.”
Freezing with my bottle halfway to my lips, I talked myself out of throwing it at him.
“We still keep in touch, Noah and I,” he said slowly. His nose twitched, and I braced for whatever he had to say. “We actually are friends, unlike you and me. I could be your friend, but you won’t allow it.”
Clonking down my bottle, my jaw tensed, and I fought not to say something horrible. Hurt wound its way through me. Antoine got to keep talking to Noah. “I did not know you were still speaking with him.”
“He and Tucker are friends as well. They go places together. Do things together. See each other regularly.”
“Makes sense,” I muttered. “They got along great while he was still living at home.” Antoine gave me a long look, but I didn’t bother to correct myself. My house was Noah’s home, at least for a while. An awful thought struck me. “Are they seeing each other?”
Antoine stared off at the glamorous marble staircase, and I glanced that way in time to see Holland leading Mr. Bronkhorst up the stairs to the second floor. “Self-pity is a horrible look for you. I was proving a point.”
“What?” I asked, getting loud but not caring. “That y’all still get to see him but I don’t? Great. Good for fuckin’ you.” I took a deep breath but wished I could take a swing at something. This was fucking awful. Maybe I should’ve gone upstairs with Holland. At least then I wouldn’t have had my nose rubbed in this mess. “I fucked it all up and it’s done.”
“He hasn’t moved on. Neither of you have. And he happened to ask me to relay a message.” Antoine lifted his eyebrows.
“And? What the hell is it?”
“He is open to hearing from you.”
“Bullshit. He left.”
Antoine lowered his head until we were staring at each other eye to eye. “No, you drove him off because something bit you on the ass.”
“Great. I go and say, ‘sorry I’m a selfish fuck,’ and then what?”
“It wouldn’t kill you to be slightly more eloquent.” He turned and began walking toward the entrance.
“Another beer, Mr. Bouchard?” Fen smiled at me, and I was too grumpy to even make an attempt back.
“Yes, please. Hell. Can you believe these people?”
Fen laughed and hustled off to help me. He was the only person in the world, aside from Holland, who seemed eager to please tonight.
* * *
Friday morningI got fuck all done at work. Couldn’t concentrate. Around noon I demanded Noah’s address from Antoine, who was so quick to send it to me, I suspected he’d already had it waiting in the holster. What did it mean that Noah was open to hearing from me?
Did he want me to beat down his door and fuck him?
That had some appeal.
That was also probably wrong.
