Page 122 of Lost in Love

It’s who I am.

And what did she do when she came out to find me leaned into her car?

Rolled her eyes.

I’ll tell you a secret. I once took a shot of lighter fluid. Wait, no. I take that back. That’s not a secret, just a fucked-up story. But my reasoning here, sometimes I think I’m mentally unstable. Maybe it’s from the lighter fluid. It once got so bad that when I was thirteen, I went a whole year thinking I had schizophrenia because my cousin Josh told me so. If you look at the symptoms—personality changes, increasing withdrawal from social situations, irrational, angry or fearful responses to loved ones and inappropriate or bizarre behavior—you get a little paranoid.

Turns out I was going through puberty.

Anyways, I had a point to this story. All those feelings I dealt with while going through puberty were incredibly stressful for me. I do not like not knowing what’s going on with my body. If I have a cold or the flu, I demand to be treated that same day.

See where I’m going with this?

No? Well, you should. I don’t like being in the dark. So this shit Madison is pulling today just isn’t working for me.

I check the time once more. 3:25 p.m.

I don’t know what time Callan gets out of school, but I do know one thing, Madison picks him up, which means she’ll be at the house and I can get some answers, right?

Yes. The answer should be yes.

Grabbing the crumpled-up papers from my desk, I head out the door.

Three

Give me answers, woman

Since I leavethe office shortly after three, it doesn’t take me long to reach our home in Cave Creek. Have you seen those housing developments where all the homes look the same, and everyone in them does too?

It’s where I live. Suburban hell.

I paid cash for this house when I was twenty-four. My mother died when I was fifteen and me being her only child, she left me her trust fund she’d received from her rich oil-drilling father I couldn’t stand. No really, I couldn’t even be in the same room as that man without wanting to shove cotton balls in my ears so I didn’t have to hear his constant complaints. He died a couple months back, and I couldn’t even bring myself to attend his funeral. That’s really shitty of me, isn’t it?

I was born in Houston Texas where my grandfather was someone everyone hated. He was that guy who thought because he was rich he could park his Rolls-Royce in the middle two parking spots and not give a shit. If you ask me, he was a real son of a bitch. My parents divorced when I was five and we moved to Phoenix where her sister lived. Though mom had her trust fund, she never touched it. Refusing to live off her father’s money, she put the money aside and worked two jobs to give me a decent upbringing but I think that’s where I learned my work ethic from. I never knew about the money growing up. It wasn’t until a few weeks after she passed that I found out. At first, I was pissed at her. Why’d we struggle so much just because of her pride? The older I got, the more I understood the lesson she wanted me to learn. It’s far more rewarding to work for what you want than to be handed it.

Anyway, my point. I may have been given a trust fund, but I work hard for everything in my life. A year ago, Madison and I decided it was time for something a little bigger. With two boys, we were rapidly outgrowing our 2,000-square-foot home, and I wanted the hell out of this neighborhood.

Being a custom home builder, the obvious choice was for me to build us a house. Have you ever heard of that saying the mechanic can’t keep his own car running because he’s constantly fixing other peoples?

Works the same for a home builder. I started our house in Granite Mountain Ranch Estates, you know, the part of town no one can afford? Brantley and I got it to the framing stage and had all the plumbing and electrical installed, but unfortunately it’s been patiently waiting for me to finish hanging the drywall for the last four months. It’s not like I meant to put the house on the back burner, but with my business growing, I don’t have time. I work seven days a week, usually fourteen hour days and most weeks it’s still not enough.

Some would say I need to loosen up and hire out for more aspects of the building process, but I fear in doing that the quality of work is lessened. That’s like fucking your wife and her not getting off too. I’m very thorough when it comes to sex. It’s a process for me: I put in some moves, she comes a few times and then I can have my fun.

It works the same with business. Take care of your customers first. But what the fuck do I know, right? My wife just asked for a divorce out of the blue so this just in, I might not know everything there is to know about life. Clearly this curve ball slipped passed me.

Speaking of my wife, do you see that white Lexus LX570 parked in my driveway?

It’s ugly. I’ve never cared for the way the grill looks, but that’s Madison’s car. A little pretentious, don’t you think?

Do you really think she has any grounds for divorce when she drives a car like that?

Yeah, me either.

Sure, I drive a brand-new Ford Raptor, but it’s my work truck. I’m in my truck more than my bed some weeks so I splurged and bought something I loved. And like I said, we’re not hurting for money.

Snatching the papers off the seat next to me, I head in the house with determination. Punching the buttons to the alarm, I can hear Callan talking to someone in the kitchen. Following the voice, I’m lead through our home with its southern pole barn feel you wouldn’t expect someone like Madison to like. She’s surprising when it comes to her décor she chose for the house. Me? I couldn’t give a flying fuck how she decorates our house as long as my bed is comfortable.

I’m very particular about my sheets too. Thread count is important whether you want to believe it or not.

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