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“Fuck.”
Rubbing my neck, I force myself to sit up and look around. I’m on the couch in my office, feeling stiff and hungover and more like shit than I did the day before, which is an achievement in and of itself. I rub my hand over my face and struggle to my feet, the previous night still playing heavily on my mind. Last night I was all about wanting to help Chloe, so why the fuck would I let myself go there?
I’m still annoyed at myself as I head for the bathroom to take a shower. Marissa isn’t in our room, which is not unusual. Her job in child social services requires plenty of early starts and late nights. She never misses a chance to remind me how important her job is compared to mine. There was a time I used to be in awe of my wife, but now I’m just grateful her job takes so much of her time, because I’m happiest when it’s just Kelsie and me. I never realized how much I wanted kids until I had one. Now I can’t imagine my life without her.
After I’m showered and dressed, I head downstairs for my usual morning breakfast of coffee. Marissa is waiting for me, which catches me off guard. I was sure she’d left for the day. She’s silent as I walk into the room, but her dull eyes never leave me.
“Morning,” I say, at once on edge.
“I want a divorce.”
Her voice is so flat and full of disinterest that she might as well be telling me we need more milk instead of ending our eight-year marriage. I’m not surprised, but I guess I expected such a big thing to bring out a little more emotion in her.
“Okay, sure,” is all I can muster.
She nods, pressing her lips together, and sucks in another breath. “I got a job offer in London. I intend to take it.” I nod, heading to the coffee machine. Good riddance, as far as I'm concerned. Running halfway around the world to get away from me isn't out of character for her. “And I'm taking Kelsie with me.”
I stop and whirl around on her. “Like fucking hell you are,” I roar.
She glares at me. “You think what we have is worth saving?” she asks icily.
“I don't give a fuck what you do,” I retort, “but you're not taking my kid away from me.”
Marissa fixes me with another cold look and laughs. “You're hardly a fit parent,” she retorts. She gestures to me and purses her lips.
“I have a steady job, and I'm not moving our kid halfway around the world. How am I not a good parent?”
“You mean, in between your porn and alcohol addiction?” Her brows rise, her smile is smug as she fixes me with a victorious smirk, like she thinks she has the upper hand because she doesn't have any fucking vices of her own.
“You're not taking Kelsie,” I say harshly.
I don't know what else I'll say if I stay, knowing Marissa she has the fucking place bugged and will use anything I say against me, so I leave the kitchen without coffee or breakfast.
I just need to get away from her.
* * *
I'm still reelingby the time I get to the school. I pull into the teachers’ parking lot and take the first available space. I get out, trying to get my head into gear for another day of work.
Anyone who knew me in my younger days would be wondering why the hell I’d chosen teaching, of all things, and to be perfectly honest, I really can’t explain it. I needed a major and teaching felt like a good plan until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. But then I ran out of time. Changing majors would’ve meant more work, so I stuck with it.
It hardly sounds like a winning endorsement and I'm probably the worst person to be passing on ideas to young minds, considering the mess my life is right now, but I actually love what I do. Given the chance, I’d choose it all over again.
I have a few minutes before my first class starts, so I make my way to the staffroom. I’m already having caffeine withdrawals, thanks to Marissa ambushing me in the kitchen this morning. Ignoring the TV that’s talking to itself across the room, I take the last clean mug and move straight for the coffee pot, pausing when I see Angie, one of my fellow teachers, standing there. I turn to leave, but before I can make a graceful escape, she lifts her head, her bright eyes lighting up as she catches sight of me.
“Morning, Sam.”
Her seductive voice leaves me gritting my teeth through a smile. She’s been chasing me for years. I’m not and have never been interested in anything more than friendship, but it seems the more I push her away, the harder she fights to get my attention.
“Good morning,” I say, taking a cautious step toward her and struggling to keep my eyes off the cleavage she has on display.
She’s a beautiful woman, naturally flirtatious and not at all my type. But the fact that she likes to show off her body makes it not surprising she’s a favourite amongst the male students. I’m sure half of the boys who end up in her detention class put themselves there on purpose.
“Any plans for the weekend?” she asks, even though it’s only Wednesday.
She’s suggestively running her tongue down the length of the stirring straw she pulls from her coffee cup. Her eyes search my face, then drop to the front of my pants before slowly moving back up to meet my gaze again.
I clear my throat, waiting for the perfect moment to make a graceful escape.
