Reckless(3)

“Are those balloons in the living room for me?” the woman asks excitedly in between attacking his face.

No, bitch. They’re not.

“You know it,” the liar says.

“And the Ranger tickets too?”

He laughs awkwardly, and his body turns toward the closet where he can probably feel me holding up my two middle fingers. Because he knows I don’t have any money, but I spent what little I did on him. To make today special. Because I, Tori Duran, am a dumbass.

At least he has the decency to look sheepish.

He coughs. “Yeah, honey. They’re for you. Thought we should enjoy a game together for once.”

I wipe away the hot tears spilling down my cheeks.

She “awws,” and I want to stab them both with her expensive heels.

“I can’t believe you got me presents on your birthday. We’ll get a babysitter and make a night of it!”

He’s seeing a woman with kids?

Except my horror isn’t over yet. No, it’s when she chirps, “I tell my friends that I have the best husband in the whole world!”

Jesus Christ.

It starts to sink in, and my world tilts on its axis.

Because she’s not the other woman.

I am.

My stomach rolls, and acid lurches up the back of my throat. I slide to my knees and brace myself against the wall, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the nightmare unfolding in front of me.

She pushes him down onto the bed and nestles herself over his body, and he moans the same way he did a few minutes ago when he was touching me.

Except now?

Now he’s fucking his wife.





1





Tori





One year later





There are a lot of shoulds in this world.

Like…

I should clean this pigsty of an apartment.

I should eat at least one vegetable this week.

I should look for a better paying job.

But my least favorite is the one my older sister mutters. “Tori, you should finish school.”

Ugh. Tell me something I don’t know.

I suck on the generic popsicle that tastes like diluted grape juice and slouch deeper on my ratty couch. Kat, on the other hand, sits as close to the edge of the recliner as humanly possible.

After I take another lick, I wave my purple ice pop at her. “You don’t look comfortable like that.”

She gives me a look. “I’m six and a half months pregnant. If I lean back, I’m never getting up again. Wait until you’re the size of a small buffalo and you can’t see your feet and your boobs are stretched like water balloons.”

I choke back a laugh. “One, that’s never gonna happen because I’m never having kids. Two, you’ve barely gained any weight.” So yeah, I’m lying a smidge, but she’s my sister, and I want her to feel good about herself. “And three, what’s going on with your boobs?” Aside from them being humongo. What I really want to know is if she’s sure she’s only having one baby. Brady’s a big guy—tall and muscular—but are his offspring really the size of a bison?

My sister sighs and rubs her belly. “Here’s something no one ever tells you in those pregnancy books. Your nipples, um, they get larger. It’s the hormones, I guess.”

Internally, I’m asking, What the fuck? But I keep my shit together because if I freak out, she’ll freak out, which sucks because she’s usually the picture of calm, and I’m the spaz. “So…they get longer?” Ew, please say no.

She shakes her head. “The areola expands.”

God, that’s just as bad. I try to keep my expression neutral. “And this grosses you out?”

She gives me the face, the one that says, What do you think, dumbass? Fine, she doesn’t ever call me dumbass, but I know she wants to sometimes. “And since when don’t you want kids? You’re great with Izzy.”

Izzy is her seven-year-old adopted daughter, who is so precious, I want to gobble her up. But let’s get real—most kids are a pain in the ass, and patience isn’t one of my virtues. At least not these days.

I shrug, not wanting to rehash the whole Jamie fiasco, which was what finally got me to be realistic about my chances of finding someone I’d want to have a family with. I never gave my sister all the gory details about my breakup with Jamie, and ripping off that Band-Aid now would start the blood gushing again.

Besides, me? Have a family? I feel sorry for those hypothetical offspring already. I can’t even balance my checkbook, not that I have much to balance.

I don’t totally understand what’s going on in my head, because when it comes to doing something for my sister or family, I’d gladly crawl over broken glass, but when I have to do something for myself, I can’t seem to care.

“Kat, you’re lucky, you know that? Brady is perfect. Maybe if I found a guy I didn’t want to eviscerate within two minutes, I’d have a change of heart.” I don’t explain how the last year flying solo has given me a new perspective.

She gets that lovesick grin on her face that almost five years of marriage hasn’t dimmed. “Brady is pretty amazing.” Her head tilts forward, and she drops her voice. “I feel bad for him, though. With my morning sickness, which I seem to have constantly, not just in the morning, we never get to…you know.”