Page 12 of Bad Husband

“Who are you talking about?” I ask, stepping forward to include myself in their conversation whether they want me to or not.

The taller of the two speaks first but doesn’t look at me when he says, “Callan’s mom. She’s got great fucking tits and ass.” And then he examines me when I’m in his eyesight, his hand coming up to shield the sun. He eyes me up and down. “Who are you? We haven’t seen you around before.”

I’m always up for a little game of fuck you. My lips pull into a grin, my arms crossing over my chest in what can only be displayed as intimidation. “Callan’s dad.”

You know those looks you get from people when they’re so shocked they can’t form words for a few seconds, but their mouth continues to move? The whole fish out of water effect? I’m getting that right now. And then he asks, “Really?” And he laughs like he’s amused. I’m not. “Well, shit. We assumed Callan’s dad was some kind of deadbeat.”

Well you know what they say about those who assume, it makes an ass out of them and makes me want to break his jaw. I wonder how this guy feels about a broken jaw?

I snort, and in case you couldn’t tell from my reaction just now, I’ll just come out and say it for you: I have no respect for this douche digger or his booger eating kid who just kicked my son’s magazine out of his hand and then turns to wave like we should applaud or something. Didn’t think I noticed that, did you? Yeah, well, I notice everything. Not if you ask Madison, but I do. I want to grab that little fucker by his neck and make him pick the magazine up. It’ll have to wait though because first I have to deal with this asshole in front of me.

I stare blankly at the man.

When I don’t say anything—because forgive me, I’m trying to decide what to say—his buddy asks, “How long have you and Madison been divorced?”

Divorced? They’re really trying to piss me off, aren’t they?

A whistle’s blown in the background but neither of us look, we’re locked in a stare. And as I look at these guys, I realize theyreallywant to know. It’s like they’re trying to gather enough information so that they can offer her a strong shoulder to cry on while staring at her tits.

“We’renotdivorced.” Not yet anyway. And as far as I’m concerned, weneverwill be. I don’t care what those papers now stuffed under the seat of my truck say. And I’m certainly not telling shit for brains she filed for divorce.

“Do you work out of town or something?”

Raising my hand to my jaw, I scratch the side of my face. Not that it itches. I just do it. “What did you say your name was?”

The man gives me a “what the fuck” look. “I didn’t, but it’s Kent. And you are?”

I smile. I can’t help it. “I’m Ridley. And no, I’m notusuallyout of town.”

“So you’re not divorced, and you don’t work out of town. How come we’ve never seen you at any practices or games?” He’s smiling like he’s trying to make me out to be a bad father for never being around. Little does he know he’s too late because today I already feel like a piece of shit. But there’s still no chance in hell I’m going to let them see any chinks in my armor.

While all this is going on in my head, he’s still talking. What the fuck is he saying?

Right. He’s pointing out to me what a bad father I am.

“I run my own construction business. I can’t usually make it to things like this because I work for a living.” Do you see that look on my face? The one that screams sarcasm?

I’m glad you see it because by the blank look on their faces they don’t.

Look at them. It’s obvious they don’t know what hard work is. Without one callus to show for a hard day’s labor, they’re probably pencil pushing accountants. Both of them. I bet they’ve never had dirt under their fingernails.

“Well, that explains a lot. Callan’s a bit of a mama’s boy.”

What the shit? A mama’s boy? My kid?

Well yeah, okay, I guess he is a little bit closer to Madison than me. But that’s beside the point. What the fuck does that have to do with these guys questioning me like a round of speed dating?

The guy Kent, the one asking all the questions, gives a dismissive nod toward who I assume is the coach of this team. “It also explains why Bennett is always giving the kid extra attention.” And then these two bag of dicks look at one another and exchange a knowing glance. There’s an inside joke between the two of them and they start laughing.

Ask me if I care?

Nope. Not even a little bit.

Okay, that’s not completely true. I mean nobody likes to be laughed at or about but when I really think about it, if this is what these two find entertaining, I feel bad for them. Sadly, this is probably the highlight of their day.

Look at them. Their lives are a shit show. Just look at their kids. One’s picking his nose and eating it, and the other has his hand down the back of his pants digging for God knows what.

Just as I’m contemplating dragging Callan off the field to try and explain to him the finer points of any other sport, another whistle blows and the coach yells, “We’re done, boys!”

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