Page 61 of Bad Husband

“The resort looks fucking amazing if you ask me, but they do like couples counseling or some shit like that where they help you remember why you fell in love. Maybe take her there.”

He has a point. A good one. Since my date night didn’t work, maybe this would? If I could get her away from everything and everyone, there’s a chance.

The door to our office opens, and Kennedy finally walks in around nine that morning when she starts at eight. I’m just about to demand she tell me why she’s late when I notice her appearance.

Remember when you were little and you’d ride your bike with no shoes and your toes looked like you grated them?

Well, if you didn’t do that, good for you, but picture doing that and your toes would look similar to Kennedy’s chin, elbows, and knees. Or my balls after having them waxed. I assure you it’s similar. Just believe me.

I focus on Kennedy and what she’s wearing. Why she wore a dress looking like this is beyond me.

“Jesus, what happened to you?”

She whines and gingerly sits done as if moving around hurts. “Well, you know that boyfriend I have?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Jason?”

“No. His name is Jacob.”

Clearly you know by now, I’m not good with names. Anyway, focus, Kennedy is telling us something.

“That piece of shit.” Digging inside her purse, she pulls out an Elsa Band-Aid and sticks it to her knee. “Well apparently, he has a drug problem, which if we’re being honest, I knew about.” Both Brantley and I nod because we met this dude once and if you’ve ever seen someone high on meth, it’s easy to spot. “Anyhow”—Kennedy shakes her head and sits down, staring at her skinned elbows—“we were out on a date last night, right? And he gets pulled over. So what does he do? He pushes me out of the car while it’s moving and then leads the police on a car chase down I-10. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”

Brantley laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, I heard about it. It was on the news this morning. I just didn’t realize it wasyouwho tuck and rolled off the interstate.”

“Yes, it was me. And I clearly didn’t tuck. I rolled, but tucking escaped me.”

I blink, trying to process what she said. And here Madison thinks she has it bad. At least I didn’t throw her from a moving car. I thought about it a time or two, but I wouldn’t actually do it. “What an asshole,” I say, trying to be a compassionate boss. It’s really hard, but I do care that she’s still alive. Finding good office staff is a lot harder than you think.

Kennedy reaches for an ice pack she brought with her, propping her legs up on her desk. Did I mention she’s wearing a dress? I turn my head but Brantley, he doesn’t. Are you surprised?

Me either.

“In his defense, it was actually pretty nice of him to throw me out of the car,” Kennedy says, “when you think about it. If I had stayed, I would have been an accessory or some shit like that.”

I’m more focused on the fact that she was fifty minutes late. I don’t do late, remember? “Is that why you were late?”

“Well no, I slept in, but I was up a little late.”

This kind of pisses me off and she knows it. “Oh, stop, I’m kidding. I didn’t oversleep. I had to stop by the police station and they weren’t open until eight.” She motions to my phone. “I sent you a text message.”

She did? I hadn’t even realized my phone was in my office, plus I hadn’t checked it since leaving the house.

“What were you guys talking about when I came in?” Kennedy asks, motioning between us.

“Nothing.” I push a stack of paper toward her. “Can you find the permits for the Peterson house? You lost them.”

“I did not. They’re on your desk,” she grumbles, standing up and limping toward the coffee pot. “They’re probably next to your cell phone you don’t check.”

I still might look for a new office manager. This one’s getting lippy.

“Ridley’s taking his wife to couples counseling,” Brantley says, ratting me out.

What a fuck face. So much for him keeping secrets. I guess they only apply to his life.

Up until now, I hadn’t told Kennedy about Madison filing for divorce, though I’m sure she’s come to some assumptions lately.

“That’s sweet. At least you try. I just want to date a guy who has a job and doesn’t use my rent money to buy crack.”

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