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Two
Laney
The heat of the sun blanketed me, but chills pricked over my skin. An annulment. Why did this feel worse than a divorce? My husband wanted to pretend we never were together. Like he had so many regrets, he wanted to pretend I never existed.
Shouldn’t I be glad? My estranged husband wanted to be released from our vows and not look back. No messy divorce.
Were annulments messy?
I had no fucking clue.
Ma snorted next to me. “If I didn’t believe you’d gone to Texas and found a Barron that’d marry you before, now I do. He’s arrogant like the rest of ’em.”
Ma had no idea. One of Archer’s best friends, Briony, could grind Ma into the gravel with the heel of her Manolo Blahnik. Wilson, Briony’s husband and Archer’s coworker, would look at Ma’s remains as if they were nothing but a snuffed-out cigarette butt. That was how they’d looked at me.
I’d had enough time to reflect on my marriage since I’d been home. I had wanted to be the girl I was in Texas so bad—until I learned no one cared about that girl either. More importantly, I’d realized how much I let the people in Archer’s life push me around. Archer himself too.
Archer never pushed me physically. He didn’t issue orders. He didn’t stomp around and demand his way. He just expected it. He assumed I’d want to do nothing but please him, and he’d been so damn right.
No more. I wouldn’t smile, nod, and spread my legs to make him happy. Although, that’d make me happy too. Archer was excellent in bed. Best I’d ever had, and while my experience had been limited to naive small-town guys, I somehow knew I could fuck every guy willing to jump into the back seat with me but Archer would still be the best.
The chill was gone, replaced by uncomfortable heat stoked by the blazing sun. Remembering how good it was with Archer wouldn’t help this situation. The sex had been awesome, amazing, toe curling, but I didn’t have to be the perfect compliant wife anymore.
“Look, I’ve had a busy day. I want to enjoy some AC and have lunch.” I swung my hand out to encompass our property. I ignored the busted horse trailer sitting by the big shop with the half-open door, the gooseneck trailer with the back doors wide open and straw and manure hanging out, and the dilapidated vehicles that should be in a junkyard but which Papa managed to keep running. “Unlike some jobs, we actually get our hands dirty and work.”
I spun on a boot heel and strode to the house. The burn of three pairs of eyes branded the area between my shoulders. As I went up the porch steps, wincing as they creaked under my heels, I spotted Kane staring out the kitchen window. Had he stopped by to talk to Papa? Kane didn’t avoid Ma, but he was careful about getting her hopes up that he was ever going back to the way things had been and taking back the work I was doing.
His concerned gaze landed on me, and I gave him a small smile. I breezed into the house and the screen door slammed.
Kane asked, “Who is that?”
I toed out of my boots, wishing I could be storming into a new-build home that didn’t have mismatched wood flooring that didn’t look like any wood grown on earth, off-white walls and popcorn ceilings, or decor that was older than my rich-as-hell husband outside. At least a place with central air instead of a wall unit chugging away in the window of the living room.
Shivers traced over my body as I gulped down the cool air. I had walked away, but my troubles weren’t over. “After graduation, I went to Texas and got married and didn’t tell anyone because he’s Allan Barron’s son. Then I left when you were in the hospital, and he never even tried calling. And now he wants a divorce. Anannulment.” The second time I told the story was definitely easier.
Kane’s dark-blue eyes widened. I hated the guilt flashing through them. He took a few moments to work through the same information our parents had just had dumped on them. Only unlike them, he processed it before he reacted—one of the many changes since his recovery.
“That sucks. I’m sorry.” He offered me a supportive smile. I needed it.
It really did suck. Tremendously. After so long, I should be walking back out with a pen, asking where to sign. Only, every one of those days and nights that Archer didn’t call, that he didn’t show, and I wondered what was wrong with me, was validated. He didn’t want me, and I was a fool to think he ever really had.
The backs of my eyes burned, but I managed a flippant attitude. “Yeah, well. Don’t out-stubborn a Granger.”
Kane stirred his coffee, which looked as light as weak chocolate milk. “You don’t have to go with me today. Hang out here and ignore…” He lifted his chin toward the front door. I didn’t know if Archer was still here or not. I’d left him at Ma’s mercy.
Served him right.
“No, I’ll go with,” I said automatically. I’d forgotten his therapy appointment was today. Going along with him had started as supportive, but now I waited for him and then we went to the little bakery in town for a treat. At first, it’d been a way to take the sting out of therapy, a way to show him it was no different than any other doctor’s appointment, no matter what Ma said.
When I told Ma I was setting Kane up with a therapist in town as soon as he was released from the hospital, she’d shunned me for three days. But Kane had continued his therapy long after he’d physically recovered. He was in a place to make his own decisions, and he wanted to keep seeing his psychologist. I had his back.
“Give me a few minutes to clean up and change.” I disappeared into my small bedroom.
Bedroom was a strong word for it. As soon as my taillights had disappeared down the driveway after graduation, Ma changed my old bedroom into an office. All I had now was an inflatable mattress beside the messy desk with the computer. It worked well since I’d also taken over the bookkeeping—an eye-opening experience.
No wonder Kane had felt hopeless.
I pressed my palms to my eyes. The door was shut, and the temperature was already rising, but I needed a flimsy piece of wood between me and the world right now. I’d sacrifice a little artificially cooled air to do it.
