Page 115 of Feels Like Home

Storming into the kitchen, I rip open the fridge door and pull out a beer. Twisting the cap off, I throw it onto the counter, watching as it bounces a few times then spins on its top until it comes to a stop. Once again, the house is quiet and I can’t stand it. My thoughts threaten to take over, reminding me of the ass chewing I received from my friends a few days ago. Reminding me of what Ilost.

Christine.

Son of abitch.

Mybaby.

Ourbaby.

Fuck.

They’reright.

Of course, they’reright.

I knowChristine.

Our love? It isn’t made up or misconstrued or created out of some wild revenge plot. It isn’t fake. Aside from the boys? It’s the most real thing in mylife.

I chug down half the bottle in one pull, slamming it back onto the counter with a loudthud.

I know I should let itgo.

Actually, I know that I was wrong to even accuse her in the firstplace.

I know it’s not her fault that Heather cheated eonsago.

I know she had no obligation to tell me. We didn’t even know each other very well then. And, she was not only dealing with learning of Todd’s dumb ass cheating, but also with the fact that he had cancer. Telling some guy she barely knew that his wife was a cheater was, I’m sure, the last thing on hermind.

But the bigger realization? I also know that she didn’t start anything with me to get revenge on Heather. It’s just one more of Heather’s stupid lies that I got trapped intobelieving.

Part of hervenom.

I think back over the time Christine and I spenttogether.

From the time I walked into Dreamin’ Beans right after I caught Heather with her boy toy, every single moment we spent together brought me nothing buthappiness.

I went toher.

Not the other wayaround.

Why am I letting Heather’s vindictive lies still get to me? Still change the course of mylife?

Even divorced, with no legal ties to my boys, she’s still a cunning bitch, trying to controlme.

And I lether.

Like anidiot.

With an animalistic roar, I grip the edge of the counter, jerking my body back and forth, trying to steady myself and my ragingemotions.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at my keys in the bowl then look away quickly, not wanting to betempted.

“Dammit,” Igrowl.

I storm over, pissed at myself that I couldn’t resist temptation for even two seconds and rip my keys out of the bowl, shoving them into the pocket of my jeans. I open the garage door and stand in place with my hands on my hips, wondering if I’m really going to leave. That lasts just a few seconds also. Once in my pickup, I push the button to start it up, throw it in reverse, and peel out of mydriveway.

Driving around town, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. I just needed out of the house. The quiet is what was making me goinsane.

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