Page 76 of Mic Drop

“Yeah.” I get myself under control, manage to stand, and return to the screen. I’m sure my tears will combine with the sweat and not make me look like a total pussy.

“B, this can’t be right. She loves you.”

I let out a miserable chuckle. “Not enough.” Or at all.

Then he does the unexpected. Seems to be going around. “Why don’t you join me in New Hampshire. It’s quiet. No one will bother you here.”

I’m about to blow him off when a thought occurs. If Jenna ignores my text and tries to serve the papers here, she could succeed. But not if I’m actuallynothere. “You know what? Sounds like a good idea.”

“Great. I’ll send the jet to the Hamptons to pick you up shortly. I’ll make dinner.” He pauses. “Everything will work out, B.” Then he disappears from my screen.

All I can think of is Jenna’s text to me. Divorce papers? No fucking way. I run up the stairs, only stopping at the top when I realize I’m not in any pain. The groin pull’s been bothering me less and less, and now it seems to have disappeared. Much like myphysical therapist wife. And every other woman in my life who I told I loved.

With this thought, I enter the bedroom and start throwing random things into my luggage. No way am I giving in to Jenna’s unreasonable demands. She’s my wife, for fuck’s sake. Her mother died happy knowing we were together. She even told me she was thrilled that I’m her son. It’s my first maternal score ever.Jenna can’t mean this.

I chew over this question the entire flight to Luke’s. Never come up with an answer. I barely offer a wave to Ashley, the flight attendant, as I exit the jet.

Closing yet another black SUV’s door, I sling my bag over my shoulder and take in the house before me. I’ve been to New Hampshire on tour, but I never saw the rural towns. This place is large, with at least five or six bedrooms. It has a wraparound porch that spans the entire first floor. Two dormers punctuate the roofline. A swing is attached to a massive tree in the front yard. Looks like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

As I walk up the path, the front door opens. Luke, relaxed in a pair of workout shorts and T-shirt, welcomes me. “B, glad you’re here, man. Come on in. I’ll throw some steaks on the grill.”

He ushers me inside, and I drop my luggage onto the foyer floor. “Nice place you got. Must’ve been some find on Airbnb.”

“Well, actually,” he tugs on the front of his shirt. “It’s not a rental. This place has been in my family for generations.”

My eyebrows lift and I whistle. “Nice. Good to know one of us came from a good home.”

Our manager’s head leans to one side. “Have you ever been to Río’s parents’ house?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He doesn’t say anything more on the topic. “Leave your stuff there. We’ll pick it up when we go upstairs later. Want a beer?”

While Manhattans are my drink, a beer with steak does sound good. “Sure.” I follow him into a massive kitchen, which was redonewithin the past couple of years judging by the quartz countertops, huge island, and high-end appliances.

“This place rivals Secluded Rest.”

“Nah,” he contradicts me. Holding up one finger, he says, “The Hamptons.” A second finger slides up. “Oceanfront. I think you win.”

“Let’s say we both win.” I open the fridge and take out a few beers while he puts the finishing touches on the tray with our dinner. Steaks, potato salad, and a variety of other dishes are brought outside. If I were hungry, I’d enjoy this.

I’m not.

As the steaks sizzle on the grill, Luke plunges forward. “Jenna wants a divorce?”

I guzzle a beer. “So she says.”

“Do you?”

“What? No fucking way. I love her.” The truth nags—she doesn’t feel the same.

“So what are you going to do?” He flips the steaks.

“What am I going to do?” I repeat, finishing my beer. “WhatcanI do? I told her I wouldn’t accept service of the papers. That’s about all I can thinkto do.”

“Well, that’s a start.” Coffee-colored eyes hold my gaze. “Are you going to fight for her?”

“I.” My brain short-circuits. I pick up a second beer and pop off the cap. “My love isn’t good enough.”Story of my life.No one I ever loved stuck around—not Lissa, not my mother (well, she is physically, I guess), not Dad.

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