Page 51 of Love Complicated

Is it wrong that I hate having him in the house?

Austin that is, not the boys.

He’s standing in the kitchen, looking at my five cats outside the door begging for food. Thankfully, Cooter decided to leave or else I probably wouldn’t have let the boys outside with him. He seemed. . . unstable? And really hungry, and just the sight of Austin, in my house, deflates any mood I had while being around Ridge earlier.

“What is it about her that keeps you from your kids?” I want to know, so I ask, and never indicate who I’m referring to because he knows.

Austin lets out a bitter laugh and sets his phone on the kitchen counter. In the distance, I can see the boys in the backyard, tossing the football back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not answering that question. You’re just trying to pick a fight.”

I’m picking a fight? Me? Maybe a little.

As you know, Austin missed the game, and now he shows up three hours later like it’ll make a difference to them.

Guess who doesn’t acknowledge their father at all, just kept playing in the backyard?

The boys.

Can’t say I blame them. I’d love to ignore him too.

Drawing in a heavy breath, I return the same bitter laugh and pull out a bag of carrots from the fridge and the bottle of ranch. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.”

His brow raises, and he pulls in his bottom lip, his focus shifting to his phone again when it chirps with a text message.

I bet that text message is fromher.

Austin’s attention shifts to me—he squints—as if trying to make out the scene in front of him. “Yeah, sure you’re not.”

After the last six fucking months of having to make excuses for him while he goes through his I’m-nearing-thirty breakdown, I’m done with his lack of effort in their lives.

He throws his hand up in the air, and it smacks the wall in the process. I know it’s wrong, but I secretly wish he’ll break his hand and can’t work and he’d understand an ounce of what I’m going through trying to raise our kids and let them have activities too. “What do you want me to say, Alyson? Do you want me to tell you I’m sorry? That’s it’s all my fault? Our marriage failing had nothing to do with you?” He raises an eyebrow. “Can you even remember the last time we’d had sex? I can’t.”

I slam my hand on the counter, leaning into him so my face is about a foot from his. His eyes move over my face, then land on my eyes, finally. “I may have been distant and stressed out, but did you ever stop to considerwhy? Sure, I got to stay home with the kids. Easy life, right? The way you see it, I don’t do anything but play with the kids all day long?” He gives me that look, the one that screams, that’sexactlywhat you did during the day, isn’t it?

And I have to physically reach out and grab a cup off the counter and begin drying it with the hand towel beside me. It’s not even wet, but I have to do this just so my hands stay busy. If I don’t, I’ll throat punch the two-timing twat.

“Sure, I took care of our boys, but between getting up every morning, getting them ready for school, making breakfast and lunch—and yours—taking the boys to school, picking the boys up, taking them to football, swim lessons, basketball, and baseball or whatever else they were doing. . . I made dinner, cleaned the house, dealt with the bank. I paid bills, planned meals. . . replaced light bulbs, so you didn’t have to do any of it.”

Take note Austin’s eyes are starting to gloss over. He’s not paying attention any longer.

But I keep going because I have a point to make.

“After all that, there wasno timefor anything else. Hell, I barely had time to shower some days let alone make time for sucking your dick too. But you, Mr. Attorney. . . you got to go to work, come home to a clean house, play with the kids and then go work out and do your own thing. On the weekends, you got to sleep in and wake up to breakfast made for you and a Saturday filled with fishing or whatever else you wanted. You didn’t have to shuttle the boys to sports events and birthday parties and then try to teach them responsibility by working at the track. Not once did you have to considertheirschedule before planning anything, or mine. You got to come and go as you pleased while I took care of everything else.” I’m spitting the words by now and gripping the cup in my hand so hard I can feel the plastic beginning to weaken. I slam it down in front of him. “That’swhat fucking ruined this, Austin.That’swhat made me bitter. That and you fucking someone else.” Leave it to me to throw that in there where I can. “So sure, I wasthat wife. The one always angry, but you made me that way.”

Austin’s jaw tenses. He’s never liked being yelled at, or accused of anything. God forbid he take the blame. His dick just happened to fall into my best friend’s vagina. Maybe it was something similar to the Virgin Mary. I don’t know, and at this point, I don’t think I care anymore.

His eyes harden and narrow into slits. It makes him look old, and I’m glad the last few years have aged him. His early onset of wrinkles kinda sorta makes up for the stretch marks on my hips from birthing his kids. “So I’m to blame for all of it?”

“Yep. You and your straying dick are to blame for us not working out.”

“You could have gone back to work. You chose to stay home with the boys.”

Do you like how he leaves out his infidelity in every conversation?

“I don’t regret staying home with them for one second. I got to watch them grow up, but I shouldn’t have been the only one taking care of them while their father got to come and go as he pleased, and inside my best friend.”

My vision threatens to blur with tears, but I won’t let it, blinking rapidly on the onset of the sting. I won’t give in this time. “Tell me the truth, Austin. Were you actually in a meeting or was she with you and didn’t want you to come? I hope her pussy’s worth it?”

Too far?

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