F*ck Marriage(58)

“I slept with Woods last night.”

I try to keep my face neutral, but she catches what’s in my eyes and she visibly deflates.

“I know…” she says softly. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that her words have nudged my heart into a painful whine that is reverberating through my chest. Or that I want to stand up and shake her. Or that I’ve started pitying myself for pining. The big, bad bachelor with the broken heart.

I stay silent because I have nothing nice to say. Billie takes my quiet as a go to spew everything she’s thinking and feeling.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. Or maybe I did. I don’t even know. One thing just led to another, you know—”

I know about one thing leading to another: I am a thirty-three-year-old male with a big dick and great face.

“So you did to Pearl what she did to you. Does this mean the end of your vendetta, or do you plan on stealing her fiancé entirely?”

She straightens up, her back touching the back of the chair.

“She stole my husband,” she says.

“So you’re going to steal her fiancé. Is that why you came back?”

She doesn’t confirm or deny.

“I don’t like your tone.” She tilts her chin up defiantly, but her bottom lip tugs out with emotion, giving her away.

“Why?” I challenge. “Is it the tone of a man speaking the truth?”

“You’re supposed to be my friend, Satcher. Friends should be able to tell each other things about themselves without the fear of being stoned.”

“Friends should be able to tell each other the truth when someone is being an ass,” I say. Also, I don’t want to be her friend.

She stands up in a huff. I can visibly see her chest rising and falling beneath her thin sweater. “This was a mistake,” she says, heading for the door.

“Only the part with Woods,” I call right before she slams the door.

I didn’t need to be such an ass. But I want to be one. Men don’t really grow up. We’re mean when we hurt women; we’re mean when women hurt us. It’s our go-to. But as soon as she’s out of the door, the guilt worms its way through the mean hurt I’m still holding up. It made her vulnerable to tell me that. She came in here possibly wanting me to help her sort through both her guilt and her feelings, and I’d told her to go to hell. I stand up and sit back down. No. I don’t need to go running to apologize. I am tired of Billie’s games. She has no clue what she wants, and in my experience, women like that are dangerous: flipping back and forth with decisions, having one foot in, one foot out. I turn back to the humming comfort of my three monitors and squirrel the mouse around aggressively. I’d say it was all a mistake, hiring her to run Rhubarb, but the numbers don’t lie. Billie is good for business, bad for the heart. I think Woods would probably agree with that. I need to move on and focus on what is good for me. My days of pining for an emotionally unavailable woman are over.





Chapter Thirty





When I get back to the hospital several hours later, showered and in clean clothes, Denise has been replaced by a woman I don’t immediately recognize. She’s slight with a short, neat haircut that doesn’t quite reach her shoulders. Her cardigan is purple and so are her shoes. When she hears me come in, she turns her head without standing up. There’s something about her profile, the aquiline nose and pouty lips…

“Mrs. Bolster?”

Billie’s mother stands and I see that she’s clutching a purple purse in both her hands.

“I’m Satcher,” I say. “One of Billie’s friends.”

She smiles faintly. “I remember,” she says. “From the wedding…”

That’s right. How had I forgotten? It had been the one time I’d met Billie’s parents.

“Has she…?”

She shakes her head. “No change,” she says.

I walk over to the bed and stare down at Billie, wanting to touch her but also not wanting to freak her mom out.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, and I mean it. Billie may claim that she has no close family ties, but in light of the accident, support is important.

“I saw Denise.” Her eyes are glassy and I feel like she’s just looking for something to say.

“Yeah. She was here before I left. She really cares about Billie.”

“That’s nice,” she says. “That things could stay so civil after…”

“After…?”

“After Billie wanted a divorce.”

“Right,” I say.

So Billie had lied to her parents. I don’t exactly blame her. It makes things easier for sure. When you are the one left in the relationship, you experience a level of pity and coddling from your loved ones that makes the whole situation feel worse. If she is the one who supposedly left Woods, she can shut down the questions, be aloof. Billie hates to be pitied, hates undue attention. The divorce equals a level of personal hell that is separate from the actual heartbreak.

“Has Woods been to see her?”

The question is fairly mild. It’s her tone that’s heartbreaking: hopeful. I wonder what type of relationship Woods had with her parents. Knowing him, he probably charmed the shit out of them.