Before I can finish, he turns on his heel and stomps back up the steps, disappearing inside the house. Lynley watches him go, her expression impassive, and Ginny clutching her hand.
“You’ve been turning him against me,” I accuse her quietly when she turns back to me, but she just smiles, sending my irritation ticking higher.
“Why would I do that?” she asks easily. “You do it so easily on your own.”
“Mom,” Ginny tugs on her hand. “If Mase isn’t going, I’m not going.” She doesn’t wait to be told otherwise, skipping up the steps and following her brother.
Lynley turns to look at me. “I’m not going to force them to spend time with you if they don’t want to.”
I glare at her. “I’m trying here, Lynnie.”
Her eyebrows climb her forehead. “Are you?” she counters. “Because rocking up to our home with zero notice is not trying. You don’t think that calling them first might have been a better idea? You haven’t seen them in weeks.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t understand why you keep needing to make this harder,” I complain. “We had ten years together, and you threw it away like we were nothing.”
A laugh trills out of her, light and happy, like she’s genuinely amused. “We were nothing, Christopher. If you don’t see that now, you never will.”
“Every man fucks around on his wife,” I snap. “It didn’t mean anything but sex. I married you.Thatmeans something.”
Lynley watches me, her eyes full of pity. “I don’t want every man,” she tells me. “And the fact that you’re still justifying it tells me everything I need to know.” She turns and heads up the steps, calling over her shoulder, “Call first next time.”
The door shuts behind her—not forcefully, but with a firm snick that screams at the permanence of shutting me out. I take a step back, and then another, my shoescrunching on the gravel as I stare up at the monstrosity of a house I know I’ll never see the inside of.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I whirl around, heading for my car as I yank it out, frowning when I see my father’s name. I hit accept and put it to my ear, immediately pulling it back away when his yell comes through the line.
“What the fuck have you done now?”
“What are you talking about?” I snap, pulling my door open and sliding behind the wheel. “I haven’t done shit.”
He’s breathing heavily, each gusty exhale reminding me of a raging bull. “Someone’s come after us. Everything’s frozen. They’re saying it’s a routine audit, but”—he curses loudly—“this was Reynolds,” he decides. “He’s fucked us!”
***
I stareup at the old brick building, my eyes tracing over the sign, trying to connect the view of it with my wife—ex-wife.
The Sterling Thread.
An uncomfortable feeling settles in my stomach because I can’t connect the image of Lynley with someone who would open up a business like this—a boutique that showcases local artists.
Our entire lives together, it was me who brought the money into our family, whether through my trust or through my job. And now I have nothing, and she is a business owner.
Nothing about this version of my life makes sense.
The back of my neck prickles as if someone’s got their eyes pinned on me. A quick sweep of the street shows it’sjust as quiet as when I arrived, most everyone at work this early in the afternoon.
Needing to get this last-ditch attempt over, I stride across the street and push the door open, wincing when bells chime merrily overhead.
“Just a minute!” Lynley calls from the back, and I close my eyes, memories sweeping over me. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve heard her voice, and it sends me back in time to where my life felt right, and not like a thousand puzzles all mixed into one box.
There’s a thud, and then footsteps draw near. “Hi, welcome to the—” The words all crash into each other as she comes into view, eyes narrowing into slits and mouth pressed into a thin line. “Christopher.” More contempt could not drip from her tone if she tried. “What are you doing here?”
She looks good. I can’t stop staring at her, my mouth dry. Her hair is long, spilling down her back in dark waves. She seems to have put on weight, but it looks good on her, her tits pressing against the cotton blouse, and a denim skirt accentuating her hips. It was never a lack of attraction that made me fuck around on her. It wasn’t even a lack of affection. It was just…
It was the way things were done, and she should’ve at least tried to understand. She didn’t fight for us at all.
The rising anger tastes like bile, and I swallow it down. It’s not what I’m here for, and it won’t get me anywhere with Lynley.
“Lynnie—” Her frown deepens into a scowl, and I clear my throat. “Lynley. I was wondering if we could talk.”
