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He doesn’t hide his groan from me, and guilt fills me.
I’ve done this.
Of course, he doesn’t want to talk to me. Two months ago, we had sex and I walked away threatening to cut off his dick. I’ve ignored his phone calls since then and avoided him like the plague—which isn’t easy when you live in a small town like Mason.
“Maggie, I really don’t—”
“It’s important, Bryant,” I respond finally. I’m starting to feel defensive and when I do, I usually speak first and regret it later.
Bryant studies me and takes a step back, opening the door wider, so I can get inside.
I walk by him, ignoring the shiver of awareness that floats through me whenever I get close to him. I used to say that was just a reaction that stemmed from Bryant being the man to take my virginity. Later, I tried to explain it away because he’s the only man I’ve ever been with. Now, I know that it’s just Bryant—just my reaction to him, my need for him.
I glance around his house quickly. He sold the one we lived in together. I asked him why and he told me the memories there haunted him. I understood that, but it still hurt me because it was the only home where our daughter had lived.
Bryant’s home now is a Craftsman full of dark woodwork and windows that are inviting and beautiful all at the same time. He keeps the colors neutral, but then that’s what he likes. I was always the one throwing in pops of yellow or red. If I wanted to really make him lose his mind, I’d do lime green or orange.
The memory makes me smile a half-second before I remember I painted Brylee’s room lime green, and he loved it…
“What’s all this about, Maggie? If you’re here to tell me you regret fucking me outside of Dusty’s, I think I got that during the last couple months of silence,” he grumbles, rubbing his jaw and chin, his body tight with tension.
“It’s not, although, I think we both can admit it’s something we should regret,” I mutter, feeling uncomfortable and nervous all at the same time.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve never regretted one damn thing with you, Maggie. Regrets were always your department,” he says, and I guess he’s right about that.
I wonder what he would say if he knew that my biggest regret was leaving him? Probably nothing since I’d also have to admit that I’d still have left because I’m just that fucked up.
“So, if it’s not to tell me off again for the condom ripping or to curse me and tell me that you wish my dick would become infested with sand fleas, why are you here?”
“I didn’t say sand fleas, I said fleas in general. Although, if you think about it, sand fleas would probably be better for you. They make hair fall off. Your manscaping time would be cut in half,” I try to joke, feeling anything but funny.
Bryant lets out a grunt, clearly not appreciating my sad attempt of humor. “Maggie, just stop. Why are you here? Are you wanting another spin on my cock? I’ll be happy to oblige baby, but in my house, condoms aren’t allowed. So, either start stripping or get the hell out.”
“Wow. Does that line work on all your women, Bryant?”
“No fucking clue. I’ve only ever had one woman, and nothing truly seems to work with her,” he says, shocking me to my core.
“I’m the only woman you, I… Never mind. You obviously mean I’m the only woman you’ve been married to. I’m just being—”
“You’re the only woman period, Maggie.”
“Bryant.”
“Don’t Bryant me. I’m tired. Are you going to stand there and tell me that you let another man between your legs?”
“What if I had?” I mutter defensively. I haven’t. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life that if I spend time thinking about them, I usually end up in tears. One mistake I’ve never made is trying to replace Bryant. He won’t believe me—it’s not like I’ve given him reason to trust me—but honestly, he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted—or ever will.
“Then, I guess we’ll get divorced,” he says, his voice hard. “Oh shit, wait…”
“Very funny, Bryant. You’re making this harder than it should be,” I snap, my own temper starting to flare.
“Gee, I’m so sorry. Lord knows you’ve always made life easy for me, Maggie.”
“You say that like everything is my fault!” I yell, this sick feeling hitting my gut. God, it hurts. Bryant doesn’t realize that I already blame myself for everything as it is.
“Don’t put that on me, baby. That was never me. That was you. You are the only one who blamed yourself for the loss of Brylee.”
“I don’t want to talk about that Bryant. That’s not why I’m here,” I all but whisper, feeling lost.
