Page 92 of On The Rocks

I tipped my head back and sighed out my frustration. Then I lowered my stare to meet my wife’s. Calmer that time, I scraped out, “We're not getting a divorce.”

Maeve heaved a breath, too, obviously just as exasperated as I was. “I never mentioned divorce.”

Kennedy popped a hip, jamming her hand to it. “If you’d have let me finish, I would have told you that Maeve never said anything about divorce. It was just a throwaway comment which I was trying to apologize for.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Wrong time, wrong place.”

“Right,” I muttered, thinking how I now looked like theloo-lah. “Maybe I jumped to conclusions.”

Maeve cocked her head and sighed again.

My shoulders slumped. I felt like a dick for losing it in front of everybody, but I was also filled with relief that Maeve wasn’t about to serve me divorce papers after just weeks of marriage.

“Like I said,” she murmured, her demeanor notably calmer. “We’ll talk about this later. It’s not the time or the place.”

“It’s cool, kids,” Atlas boomed. He drained his cider and placed the bottle on the bar. “High time we left ya to it, anyway. I’ve gotta put my princesses to bed. Only stayed this long to yank Callum’s chain and watch the cocky bastard sweat.” He nodded toward the fridge at the back of the bar. “I’d appreciate a little gift to take with me, though. Your cider’s the absolute shit.”

Maeve smiled. “I’m so happy you all like it, and of course you can take some home.”

“You’ve hit the jackpot with those drinks, Toots, mark my words,” he announced before turning to me. “And you better stop playin’ the fuckin’ fool, or you’ll have me to fuckin’ answer to.”

“And me,” Tristan spouted off.

Maeve beamed. “You’re both such sweethearts.”

I felt my expression pinch.

Why was she being cute to everybody but me? I wanted my sweet wife back. I missed the warm feeling I got in my chest when she gazed up at me with stars in her cosmic eyes and the soft look she had on her face, like when we were talking about our babies.

She should’ve been beaming at me, nobody else. Just me.

It took ages for everybody to gather their coats and belongings and file outside to their cars. I waited, trying not to tap my foot impatiently and check my watch while the girls and Tristan purposely took their time—no doubt to piss me off—by hugging Maeve and stopping to aimlessly chat as they left.

Donovan gave me a chin lift as he walked past, zipping up his leather jacket and adjusting his scarf. “You be nice to her,” he scolded. “Remember, you fucked up, so apologize.”

“I will if everybody stops interrupting me and minds their own fucking business,” I hissed, holding the door open.

He walked into the dark street, muttering, “Just make it right, Callum.”

My reply was to slam the door closed behind him with a flourish of my hand before muttering obscenities under my breath. I loved my buddies, loved my brother too, but by God, they were interfering motherfuckers. The Speed Demons were constantly up in each other’s business, probably because they all worked and lived in the same vicinity. I was more private, and I hated people sticking their noses in my business and my marriage.

I turned around to see Maeve gathering her shit together. “I’m going to bed,” she told me quietly before slipping out of the bar.

Her defeated tone crawled inside my chest and squeezed my heart painfully.

Cursing quietly, I set about locking the doors, and pulling the shutters down before checking everything was turned off. Seeing Maeve so despondent made my chest ache, but knowing it was because of something I did only added to my guilt.

This was why I didn’t do relationships. I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I certainly wasn’t sensitive to other’s feelings. I wasn’t even in touch with my own emotions, so how the hell was I supposed to take care of Maeve’s?

As I made my way out of the bar and up the stairs to my apartment, I came to the conclusion that I could only be myself and just pray she would accept me. But I had to stop pussying around, too, and take back control of the situation. I wasn’t a great conversationalist, but I could show her I cared in my own way.

Heading to her bedroom, I listened at the door. Then I heard the shower in the bathroom turning on, and my head swiveled toward the noise. I moved to the door, reached out, and tried the handle.

Locked.

Sauntering into my room, I switched on my shower and jumped inside, quickly washing the day’s grime off my body. Then I jumped out, dried off, sprayed deodorant, and pulled on a pair of basketball shorts. My ears pricked up when I heard the shower in the main bathroom switch off, and I grinned to myself and began to count through the minutes. When I was sure Maeve had enough time to get back into her room, I made my move.

My stride was purposeful, my intent obvious in the set of my shoulders and the determination etched into my jaw. It was time for us to communicate, except there was only one way I knew how.

My wife was about to find out what it meant to be married to me. I just hoped that it didn’t blow up in my face.

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