Page 75 of Stud

Me and my girl.

My remaining time had been spent in my garage, building my inventory for Ellen’s new shop. Volunteering had been put on hold, all my energy focused on producing the best work I could. Now I was late.

Not that it mattered when meeting Tessa. Her form of punctual was to arrive at meetings fifteen minutes past schedule. She claimed it set people off kilter, gave her an advantage.

Always a strategy with her.

This afternoon she was sitting in the coffee shop window, waiting on me. She’d traded her usual gray shark-suit for a red sweater and pearls. Her blunt blond hair and bangs framed her contemplative face as she sipped her coffee—likely the strongest they had, no cream or sugar.

It was odd, catching her in a candid moment. I could almost picture us eight years ago, a couple of kids who thought we knew what it would take to build a marriage. So naïve. So much lost time. I assessed how I felt, watching her. My anger bubbled below the surface, always there. Disappointment rang true, too, as did sadness. A heavy weariness that we’d wound up here.

Dragging a hand through my hair, I pushed through the doors and approached her table. “Tessa.”

She pressed her hand to her throat. “Owen, you surprised me.”

I shrugged off my jacket, rolled up my long sleeves, and settled onto the wooden chair opposite her. An espresso machine shushed and whirred as the line shuffled forward—business types on their handhelds, oblivious to the world. Tessa nudged a cup toward me. “Still take yours with milk and one sugar?”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Her tight smile showed signs of discomfort. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d sat like this, no raised voices. No lawyers trying to keep the peace. Her attention drifted to my forearm. “Did you get in a fight with a grizzly?”

I glanced at the scratches and huffed out a laugh. “More like a fight with a rough wood plank.”

“Does that mean you’re pursuing your woodworking?”

“Trying to.” Except I had no idea how much more money I’d spend on our divorce.

Gritting my teeth, I bit the words off before they could escape. I focused on my coffee, the warmth of it in my hand. I remembered the warmth of Ainsley in my arms this morning. I couldn’t lose my cool today. There was too much at stake. I also couldn’t do this small talk as though the woman before me wasn’t trying to ruin my life.

I rested my weight on the small round table. “The reason I wanted to talk was I never said I was sorry.”

Hope, similar to her expression the last day I’d barged into her office, colored her cheeks. “I’m listening.”

It should be easy, to lay it out there, explain my struggles all those years ago, but I was suddenly burning up, the low hanging ceiling lamps casting too much heat. I tugged at my crewneck. “I wasn’t happy in D.C. Never liked it. I moved there for you and thought I could make it work, but I felt like a fish out of water.” The memories spilled over, all the frustrations from back then welling up. “My job wore on me. I missed Nana and Emmett. Most of my friends were friends of convenience—or they were yours. I think I shut down on you, and that’s maybe why you started working so much. I’m sure there’s more I did to piss you off, reasons for our slow decline, but I’m realizing now I hold some of the blame. So…”

I buried the fact that she’d turned Caroline against me. I put her recent game—firing her lawyer to toy with me—out of my head. I focused on what we once had, on the hurt I might have caused, and I said a genuine, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, a small sad movement. “I knew you weren’t happy. Not like we were in college. I got caught up in the politics at work, and you’d pulled away. I didn’t know how to talk to you. Then you spent all your time on that Habitat project. And I…” Her lips flattened as she trailed off. Hurt sunk into her glossed eyes. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“We got married young, Tess. We were kids.”

“But I was too driven. I worked hard because coming home to you was depressing at times, but it was also an excuse. I’ve been so determined to make partner. I couldn’t see much past that goal.”

“You’re also good at what you do.” Ruthless. The best of the best.

She studied her red nails. “I am.”

Acoustic tunes floated on the coffee-scented air. We sipped our drinks, the tension between us less acute. “It’s been a rough year.”

Her voice grew quiet. “I don’t think you know how hard.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a dig at my supposed cheating or our never-ending divorce. Either way, I didn’t like being partly responsible for a woman’s sadness. I never wanted us to end up like this. “I’m sorry, Tess. Sorry I couldn’t make it work. Sorry I hurt you. Sorry for all the things that brought us here.”

“I’m sorry, too. I’ve made it all harder. It’s the fighter in me.”

I wouldn’t bet against her in a ring. “They don’t call you the Sleeper for nothing.”

She grinned at that. “I do kind of love that nickname.” She lay her hand on the table, palm up. If I wasn’t mistaken, her fingers trembled slightly. “What do you say we start over? Find our feet and try to move forward.”