One Last Time(4)

I disappoint him.

I fail him.

I’m not good enough.

“I can’t,” I say as I push his shoulders. “I can’t do this, Scott.”

He rolls off me and onto his back and covers his face. “You can’t?”

“If it’s over, then we have to act like it. You can’t want to divorce me but then make love to me. It’s too confusing.” I sit up and adjust my clothes back.

Scott gets to his feet and walks to the door. He pauses and looks back at me. “It’s fine. It’s not like it’s ever that good anyway.”

He closes the door, and I curl up, clutching my knees to my chest as I cry as quietly as I can manage.





Chapter Two





Kristin





Six Months Later


“Finn, move that box into your new room,” I instruct him when I find him sitting on the couch with his headphones on.

“I’m watching a video,” he snaps back.

“I don’t care. You have to help,” I say as Heather, Danielle, and Nicole carry boxes inside.

Heather places a box on the floor and rubs Finn’s head. “Hey, can you help Eli with the table?”

He looks at his “aunt” and smiles. “Sure thing.”

One day, I’ll remember why I wanted children. I smile at my best friend who is standing in what used to be her home. There’s not a day in my life that I don’t thank God for my broken ankle in seventh grade that forced Heather into my life. She’s saving my ass right now by giving the kids and a me place to live—rent-free.

“Thanks a lot, Finn! I’m not putting up with this attitude of yours,” I yell at the back of his head.

Finn glares at me and crosses his arms. “I didn’t ask to move.”

“Let him be, honey.” Heather squeezes my hand. “We’re here to help.”

I close my eyes and count to five. I know this has been hard for the kids, but Finn has been unbearable. Aubrey isn’t a walk in the park, but at least she’s mainly stuck to tears, which can be comforted.

“I wish this were easier,” I muse.

“I’m sure, but they’ll adjust.” She smiles reassuringly.

If anyone knows about adjusting, it’s Heather. Her life has been one thing after another, and she’s still standing.

We both make our way into my bedroom and start unloading clothes.

“Was Scott still his ever-lovely self on the phone earlier?”

She caught that. I guess being a cop for as long as she has been makes her the most observant of us all.

My husband—soon to be ex-husband—has made my life absolute hell during the last month. He’s gone back and forth on everything we agreed upon. I had hoped we’d have a smooth separation and then an amicable divorce. I should’ve known better.

Nothing with Scott is ever easy, but when you add money in, forget it.

He’s threatened everything under the sun to keep from having to pay for anything.

“He now wants to discuss more of a joint custody agreement so that he doesn’t have to pay any child support. He says he’s paid his dues, and if I want to push him, he’ll go for full custody.”

“Such a fucking prick,” she grumbles as she places shirts in the dresser.

“Yup.”

“So, he’s threatening you?”

I sigh and place the hanger on the rack. “Not threatening as much as making this difficult. We got the divorce papers, and they are completely ridiculous. Nothing we had agreed on is there. I mean, basically, he wants me to walk away from the marriage without a penny and pay him.”

He’s out of his freaking mind if he thinks that’s going to happen. I’ve suffered through his constant bullshit, and I tried to make things civil. If he wants a fight, then I’ll fight.

“I really wish you’d find a reason for me to legally shoot him.”

I laugh, wishing I could as well. “He’s not worth it.”

She leans her hip on the dresser. “No, he’s not, but you are.”

Am I? I don’t feel like I’m worth a damn right now. I just landed a job, thanks to Heather. I only have a roof over my head, thanks to Heather. The minimal furniture here is because of Nicole being an interior designer—I swear she takes stuff from the houses she stages, and my form of childcare is Danielle.

Really, what am I worth?

My friends are worth their weight in gold, but I’m the rust that needs scraping.

“I don’t feel like—”

“One of you two!” Nicole yells with strained effort.

“Shit,” we both say in unison and rush out. Nic isn’t exactly the most graceful of the four of us, and she sure as hell doesn’t do manual labor.

When we get into the living room, I rush over and take the top box, which is in front of her face, and restrain my giggle.

“Jesus Christ, it’s hotter than Satan’s ass out there,” Nicole groans as she fumbles with the other box in her hand. “Why do we live in Tampa again?”

“You know what Satan’s ass feels like?” Heather asks.

Nicole puts the box down, flips her off, and plops into the chair. “Fan me,” she demands.