Page 82 of Bad Husband

When I think about those divorce papers, and the finality they’ll soon have, I want to get away from everything. It may not be the most responsible time to leave, but I need to.

“Can you take care of things for a few days?” I ask Brantley.

He knows what I’m going through and nods. “Yeah, I got it.” And then he shakes his head, clasping his hand on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry things didn’t work out with you and Madison.”

“Yeah, me too.” And he has no idea just how badly I am sorry.

“Where are you going?”

I shrug. “Thinking about going to see my dad for a few days since we can’t start the Murphy project until next week.”

Brantley’s eyes light up remembering the last time we visited my dad in Vegas. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’renot.”

IT’S A TUESDAY morning when I leave for my dad’s house in Nevada. I hate Tuesdays. I left the keys to the new house and the signed divorce papers on the counter in an envelope this morning. I wasn’t sure what she’d think when she got them and I didn’t leave a note. I was hoping she’d notice the keys and go look at the house but I wasn’t sure. Maybe she’d throw them away at this point.

Madison promised me I could have the boys this weekend, but the last place I want to take them is to my dad’s. Last time I took them there, Callan wanted to move to Vegas and Noah pretty much attached himself to my father like he was the greatest thing in the world.

Didn’t do a lot for my own ego, but this is Mike Cooper we’re talking about. Surely if they spent enough time around him, they’d see he’s not much but a sixty-two-year-old eternal bachelor, who in my opinion, should be in a nursing home.

Staring at the road ahead of me, I can’t help but think about how different my life will be. I’m the weekend dad. And forget about getting regular pussy. I don’t have time to go out and look for it. Not that I want it. I don’t want it. I want one pussy. Madison’s.

When I’m driving, I like to sing sometimes, and lately it seems country music is always on and every song fits my life as far as I’m concerned. Especially Blackhawk’s song “Goodbye Says it All.”

“Blackhawk didn't sing about your life,” Brantley says beside me, staring at his phone. “Will you stop it?”

Remember when I said no to him coming with me? He clearly didn’t listen to me, or I didn’t hold my ground. Either way, he’s coming with me.

“Yes, they did. Think about it.” I jab my finger at the radio. “This is my life. My wife left me.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t look over at me. “You're being dramatic.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Am I?”

He finally looks at me. “Yes!”

“Am not.” I’m sure you can imagine, but I’m pouting.

“Listen.” Brantley sets his phone down in the cup holder. “Nathalie said—”

“Shut up,” I interrupt him. “I hate her.”

“You hate everyone. Just listen….”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.” He smacks my shoulder and I jerk the wheel slightly at the impact. “You do.”

“No, I don’t,” I point out. “I could open the door and jump out.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Well then, make sure you tuck and roll better than Kennedy did.”

“I will.” And then I remember I’m driving and that really wouldn’t work very well. My luck I’d run over myself with my own truck.

I sigh dramatically after two minutes. I want to know what Nathalie said, damn it.

“What did she say?”

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