Page 30 of Promise

But somewhere along the way, he changed direction.

He moved out of the trailer park and into an apartment with a friend. He’d taken a job working for another construction company with Clint. He seemed focused, determined to be better than who he could have been.

And he was a huge flirt.

He’d been relentless.

“Do I look like I’m that easy?” I’d said to him one night, when we’d both been drinking too much, and I was hanging out with friends at Milton Roadhouse while he was there with his crew.

“You look like forever.”

I faked a gag, pointing my fingers toward my open mouth and rolling my throat in a choking sound.

“Does that line work on anyone?”

“Only need it to work on one person.” He winked at me. So damn smooth. And yet, he never left my side that night. Didn’t dance with other girls. Didn’t go home with someone else, which I hadn’t known until years later.

I resisted him for six weeks before tequila talked too loudly.

When we finally kissed, I felt like I’d wrapped my hands around a live wire. Like one of those cartoon characters you see with their hair squiggled and their limbs extended, teeth chattering.

Kissing Dart was a need I couldn’t satiate, and we were suddenly sneaking off every chance we got to bring our lips together and grind against one another.

But I don’t want to think about the passion Dart and I once shared.

I’m still pissed.

Deciding sleep isn’t going to be found, I fling my legs off the side of the bed and sit upright, scrubbing at my face. I’m too tired to even cry over this news.

I’m still married to Dart Rivers.

Perhaps I’m just numb to the idea.

When I head downstairs, I move toward the kitchen, where Ruby James is sitting at the table, swinging her little legs beneath it. Clint lost another nanny, and Mom has been helping him out by babysitting the precious six-year-old.

“Aunt Trinity, want to have a cookie with me?” Her little legs swing faster as she eats the creamy center of the sandwich cookie first.

“Sure, sweetheart.” I pull out a chair and sit opposite her while Mom stands, swaying side-to-side, Mirabelle curled against her chest.

“How is she doing?” I ask.

“She’s an angel.” Mom smiles. Her dark eyes dance with love. We’re all falling hard and fast for this new blessing in our lives. “But the bigger question is how are you doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean?” I counter, already knowing she knows something.

“Ruby James, if you promise to be neat as a pin, how about I set you up on the couch to watch a few minutes of Frozen?” Mom offers to remove Ruby James, so we can chat.

“I got her,” I say, standing back up and settling Ruby James on the couch with her favorite movie on the large screen television the boys bought Mom.

They said she needed a bigger screen for her failing eyesight. Mom has 20/20 vision.

The real reason they gifted her the television was so they could watch sports when the family gathered. Although more often than not, we come together for breakfast.

“All set?” I give Ruby James a thumbs up. A small lap tray rests over her outstretched legs, two sandwich cookies on a paper plate shaped like a Zebra’s head, and milk in a covered cup with a straw.

She smiles without looking at me as the movie begins.

Returning to the kitchen, I offer to take Mirabelle from Mom, who has taken a seat in a kitchen chair.