“Babe,flawlesscloser.” Nessa grins, still munching on an egg roll.
“Stay here tonight,” Mack says, rubbing my back comfortingly. “Breathe. Rest. The world will look different tomorrow.”
“It already does,” I murmur, then turn to Phoenix. “Can I retain your legal services?”
She gasps. “Becca, are you sure? Before going the divorce route, I think there are other alternatives.”
“I’m not filing. Yet,” I say calmly. “I want a postnuptial agreement. Sam was right about one thing: he has all the power. That changes tomorrow.”
4
SAM
Becca slams the door shut, and it hits like a gunshot to my chest.
I stand there for a moment, stunned. Then I start pacing her friend’s porch like a damn idiot, hands clenched at my sides, trying not to lose it. She wouldn’t come home with me. Saidmyhouse, notourhouse. Like I’d already lost her.
I don’t know what the hell I expected. Angry, sure. But this? Never.
Eventually, I head back to my truck. I reach under the passenger seat and grab the small black backpack. Becca always thinks ahead, just in case.
“Can you just keep this in your truck?” she says, tossing me a backpack. “It’s got a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and protein bars. You never know when you’ll need something.”
“What would we need this for?” I ask, laughing as I shove it under the seat.
“Food emergencies. Breath emergencies. Maybe a spontaneous road trip where I don’t want to smell like old fries.” She wraps her arms around my neck then, playful and close, eyes dancing.
“You didn’t pack extra panties in there, did you?” I tease.
“Why would I—” she starts, but her voice has already hitched.
“Because I plan on making a mess of the pair you're wearing,” I whisper, lifting her into the backseat.
She gasps. And laughs. And kisses me like she always does, like I’m hers, like we are forever.
Now that memory feels like a punch to the gut.
I set the backpack on Mack’s front step, under the camera. She’ll see it. She’ll give it to her. I don’t knock. I can’t stomach the idea of Becca looking at me like I’m someone she doesn’t recognize anymore. And then I leave, driving away from my wife for the first time in four years. God, I don’t want this to become a habit.
I grip the steering wheel harder than necessary and start replaying the party on a loop in my head, my knuckles turning white. The stupid things I said. The worse things I didn’t say.
I should’ve told her about the money before tonight. I meant to. But every time I tried, I pictured the look she’s wearing now and sharp, disappointed silence. I knew she’d say no. I knew she’d ask detailed business questions Holly couldn’t answer. And I didn’t want to put my sister through that.
Becca’s focused. Relentless. She builds five-year plans for fun and schedules sex around loan payoff dates. And I love that about her. But Holly? Holly’s different.
I watched her learn to walk again at fifteen. I watched her cry when she couldn’t hold a spoon right. People in town wrote her off, but she clawed her way back. And yeah, maybe she’s never had to push herself like Becca has. But dammit, she still tries.
She should have never even gotten in that accident. Ifshe hadn't been out late with Mandy after my football game, she wouldn't have lost a year of high school.
After the accident, we all babied her. It wasn’t fair, but it became the default. And when she looked at me and said, “Please, I believe in this.” I just … I wanted to believe in her too.
Is that such a crime?
But I keep coming back to what Becca said:Teams make decisions together.
I wake up with a punishment-like hangover and a couch-induced crick in my neck. The discounted leftover gin from Becca's Zentrology drink seemed like a good idea last night. This morning, I’m just adding it to a list of recent bad decisions.
I make it halfway through a cup of strong coffee before my phone buzzes with a text from Rick.
