Page 60 of Bad Husband

“I’m just curious here.” I lean back against her car, my arms crossed over my chest. “When you said, and quote me here because I remember the words exactly, Kip said you’d react this way… what exactly were you referring to?”

“I just talked to him about it briefly,” she admits, her words shaking when she sees how pissed off I am about this.

Have you ever seen those movies where they stick an unsuspecting person in with a bull, and they have to try and escape with their lives?

That’s what today felt like. Gang up on Ridley because he works all the time. Well, fuck that. “So what, you complain to him about me and how fucking awful your life is? Does he let you cry on his shoulder so you’ll spread your legs for him?”

“Screw you, Ridley.” And then she starts to walk away from me.

I grab her by the arm. “No, really, I’m curious. Is that what this is? He’s your shoulder to cry on when I’m not around which evidently is never?”

“No, it’s not like that. But if we’re being honest, he does listen to me, which is more than I can say for you. All you do is work and sleep.”

“Not true,” I say, wanting to kick the side of her car like a child trying to get his point across. “This week I’ve watched a toddler kill a cat, had my balls skinned, chased four mice, put a goddamn nail through my hand because I wasn’t paying attention and this just in, chastised in front of my family for trying to provide for them. Pretty sure I’ve done more than work and sleep. In fact, not much work has been done because I’m constantly trying to make you love me.”

When I glance up, her face hardens, a flood of anger flushing her cheeks. I want to take back what I said, but then again, I spoke the truth. Maybe a little harsher than I needed.

I’ve heard people say divorce is ugly. I’ve heard them say it gets really bad before you come to an agreement. Is this the ugly? Us blaming and accusing and avoiding the real issues to place the blame on anyone but ourselves.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Madison manages to keep her voice even when she says, “Just because you suddenly decided you care, doesn’t mean shit. I’m not going to apologize for him looking out for me. You’re the one who’s never around, and I’m forced to go to these games and do all of this myself.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re forgetting why I’ve done all this. I work this hard for you and the boys, so you can have nice things and drive around town in an eighty-thousand-dollar SUV,”I spit out through gritted teeth, moving away from her.

I know what you’re thinking. I’m an asshole. Please for the love of God see that it’s not just me here though.

There is a pang of guilt that hits me because I don’t want to say these things to her. I don’t. But I am, and part of me doesn’t know why.

Am I finally seeing what I’ve been missing all along?

Two weeks go by. Two fucking weeks and Madison still won’t talk to me after our lunch with Kip. Which I think is completely fucking ridiculous because I was only defending myself.

Put yourself in my position here. Did I act like an asshole?

If you said yes, piss off.

I can’t say Madison and I don’t talk because there’s discussion about the kids, but nothing about us. And I’m sleeping on the couch again.

It’s awful, the sleeping on the couch, and while I can see where Imayhave overreacted the other day, I’m down to something like forty days before this nightmare is final and it’s game time.

“Hey, you never told me what happened on your date?”

“What date? After meeting Kip, she told me she didn’t want to go on a date with me.”

Brantley snorts. “What kind of name is Kip?” This is why we’re friends. And then he adds, confirming why he’s my best friend, “It’d be cooler if his name was Kit.”

“I’m dying here, man,” I tell Brantley as we look through paperwork on Friday morning in the office. We’re searching for a permit Kennedy had in here and guess what? She’s late. You know my feelings about people being late. “I need some ideas, fast.”

“You have plenty of time.”

“No, I don’t. I have like four weeks left. This calls for drastic measures.”

Brantley’s deep in thought for about five minutes and then grins. I’m not sure I like this grin. Look at him. He looks like the Joker. “Couples therapy.”

“What?”

“You know… they have that hotel up in Sedona? The resort that specializes in couple’s therapy. Haven’t you seen their commercials on TV?”

“Apparently we watch different shows.”

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