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“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks as he pulls the door open, wearing a pair of sweats with his hair damp.
“I was about to ask you the same question.” I look past him and see Naomie in nothing but a towel, looking nervous. “Why are you in my house, Naomie?”
“Your house?” Bowie crosses his arms over his chest.
“My house,” I repeat, and he looks back at Naomie.
“I thought this was your place.”
“I.... Well….” She shifts on her feet. “It was ours.”
“It was never ours. I bought it. Your name wasn’t ever on the paperwork. The judge told you straight out that you wouldn’t be seeing a penny from this property.”
“We were married when you bought it,” she snaps. “I should own half of it.”
“And yet you don’t,” Miles inserts coolly, and she glares at him.
“Jesus, Naomie. Do you ever fucking tell the truth?” Bowie bites out, spinning away from the open door.
“What’s that mean?” she spits.
“First, the false pregnancy. Now this. And the lies about you still being with Tucker?”
“I explained all that.”
“Yeah, you’re really good at ‘explaining’ shit to fit your narrative. And I’m a fool for listening.” He storms through the living room toward the bedroom that is on the first floor.
“Where are you going?” she cries when he tries to walk past her.
“To pack my shit and go home.” He shrugs her off when she reaches out to latch onto him.
“You can’t leave me.”
“Don’t pretend like you fucking care about me or what I do, Naomie. I might have been thinking with my dick when we got together, but I’m not a complete idiot.”
“You told me that you loved me. You chose me.”
“I thought I loved my wife and our family, but then I willingly fucking participated in the destruction of everything good I had. So, it’s obvious I have no idea what love is and that I’m just as fucked up as you are.” He pushes past her and goes into the bedroom.
She spins around to point her finger at me. “This is your fault.”
“I’m giving you ten minutes to pack your shit and get out of my house, or I’m calling the cops and having you arrested for breaking and entering.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” I shrug, and she looks through my brothers and me before she spins on her heel and stomps into the room with Bowie.
When he comes out with a shirt on and a bag over his shoulder a minute later, I step in front of the door. “You need to take Naomie with you.”
“I’m done. She can figure out her own way home.” He steps to the side, and I do the same, blocking his path.
“Miranda and Kingston are out front in my SUV,” I state, and his jaw clenches. “You need to take her with you.”
“Fine. Let me go see my boy before she comes out.”
I don’t want to, but I still step out of the way and allow him to pass. I watch him toss his bag into the bed of his truck before walking to where I parked. The passenger door opens, and Miranda gets out, her eyes coming to me in question as he walks toward her with me on his heels.
“I just want to give him a hug,” Bowie says quietly, and Miranda looks at him.
“When Naomie gets out here, we’ll be on our way. You’ll get no more problems from us.”
Her expression fills with sympathy from whatever she sees on his face, and she opens the back door.
“Daddy!” Kingston shouts happily, jumping into his dad’s arms, oblivious to the tension in the air.
“Hey, buddy.” Bowie wraps him in a hug. “Are you having fun hanging with Tucker and Mommy?”
“Yes, and we might see beers!” He leans back to see his dad’s face, his smile faltering. “But I can’t go swimming, because it’s too cold.”
“You don’t want to turn into a popsicle, do you?” Bowie asks, and Kingston gets a look on his face that states clearly he’s weighing the pros and cons of doing just that. “Dude. No swimming. It’s too cold, but maybe another time.” His tone sounds like the dad he is.
“Fine.” Kingston sighs, and I catch Miranda rub her lips together to hide her smile.
“Be good for Mom and Tucker, and I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“What about Grandma?” Kingston asks.
Bowie’s chest expands, then deflates as he looks into his son’s eyes. “She’ll be there.” He kisses Kingston’s cheek, then passes him over to his mom.
“Why are you still here?” Naomie asks loudly when she steps outside, and Kingston latches onto his mom’s neck with both arms.
“Get in my truck,” Bowie orders, walking toward her.
“You can’t tell me what to do.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Get in my truck, Naomie, or I’ll let Tucker call the cops,” he growls low.
