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Definitely not the question he was expecting. “I’m almost afraid to ask what that means.”
“I don’t think I could say it again.” She placed her hands between her head to steady it, like it hurt. Which it probably did. Only not as much as it was going to hurt tomorrow.
“I’m pretty sure the answer to your question is no,” he said.
“Oh. Okay. I didn’t think so.”
“Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “Shoot.” Then she laughed. “I probably shouldn’t say that to a cop. I don’t mean shoot as in you know, shoot. I mean, go ahead.”
“Why did you ask me to leave the house?”
It wasn’t fair to ask her that now. Not while she was drunk and her defenses were down. On the other hand, maybe it was the perfect time to ask her. Maybe for once, he’d get a straight answer.
“Can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me,” she muttered.
What the hell was she talking about?
“I trust you. You’re my wife, for God’s sake.”
“Aha! Now we’re getting someplace…or somewhere. I forget how that goes. So, you admit I’m your wife.”
“I don’t think that point was ever in question.”
“But why am I your wife? Why did you marry me, huh? Cuz I was knocked up? Is that why?” Her words were still slurred but Zeke got the impression it was a question she’d been thinking about for a long time.
He raked a hand through his cropped hair. “You know why we got married. Sure, you were pregnant with Claire, but it was also because we love each other.”
“Don’t you want to know why I married you?” Before he could answer, she said, “Because you were hot. You’re still hot, you know?” She frowned. “Of course you know. Every woman in town tells me so on a daily basis, so they probably tell you, too. Hey! You’re not Slytherin’ anyone else’s Hufflepuff, are you? Because…if you are, I might just have to chop off your…your Gryffindor!” She laughed.
“My Gryffindor, huh?”
“Go read Harry Potter,” she muttered. She tried to open the car door but he’d automatically locked it.
“Hold on.” He got out of the cruiser and opened the door for her. “Let me help you in the house.”
He took her by the elbow but she brushed his hand away. “No, no…I’m okay.” He watched as she half stumbled toward the front porch. Somehow, she managed to get the key in the lock. She turned and waved to him then disappeared inside the house.
He waited a minute, then went up to test the door to make sure she’d locked it behind her. For a second, he thought about following her inside. To make sure she got to bed all right. But that was just an excuse. She’d made it to the door and managed to remember to lock up, which meant she was okay. Which meant there was no real reason to follow her.
He sat in the cruiser for the next twenty minutes staring at the house. Claire’s light went out and the house looked silent.
What the hell did she mean she couldn’t be with someone who didn’t trust her?
He racked his brain, trying to remember all those counseling sessions they’d gone to. He could admit now to himself that he’d fucked that up royally. He’d been a world class dick. He hadn’t taken them seriously and she’d been angry about that. The sessions were a complete waste of time but he should have at least pretended to be into them. He’d messed up at the city council meeting, too. Instead of waiting to ask her in private about her wedding ring, he’d assumed she taken it off as some sort of sign. Blurting out to the entire room they were separated wasn’t like him. He was losing control of his personal life and he didn’t like it one bit.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Sure, she’d kicked him out of the house, but if he offered to go to counseling again, would she give him another shot? It was definitely worth trying.
He only knew one thing. He loved her. And this marriage wasn’t going down without a fight.
Seventeen years and about eleven months ago (let’s not get picky)…
Once upon a time, Zeke Grant had the world in the palm of his hand. At nineteen he had everything a guy his age could ever need or want. A job that paid the bills, a 1995 Honda CB500 that drove like a dream, and even his own apartment.
The job wasn’t perfect. He worked as a mechanic’s apprentice at Bert’s Garage. Not something he planned to do forever, but for now the hours were good and he was learning a skill he could use in one way or another for the rest of his life. The apartment wasn’t perfect either. It was a one bedroom shack, really, but it was just a few blocks from the beach and the girls liked it. They liked the bike, too. And for some reason, they liked him as well. Getting laid was never a problem.
Today, though, it was the world that had him by the balls. He sat in the Army recruiting station in Panama City and listened to the sergeant tell him what an outstanding soldier he’d make.
