Page 88 of Own the Eights Gets Married
He stroked the scented lint ball with his thumb. “Georgie’s and mine. I took it from our place.”
Maureen narrowed her gaze. “You won’t talk to Georgie, but you’ll keep her dryer lint? And don’t try to tell me I’m not right. Remember, I do the books for both of you. I know you two are avoiding each other,” Maureen chided.
His father grimaced. “What are you doing with Georgie’s dryer lint, son? Not to mention, that’s a pretty creepy thing to be carrying around.”
“It smells like her,” he said, staring at the bluish-gray lemon verbena-scented mass.
He glanced up to find Maureen and his dad with their heads cocked to the side, watching him as if he belonged in a padded room.
He waved off their concern. “It’s not meant to be creepy. It’s just…”
Just what?
The one thing he’d kept with him since he’d left?
The reminder of her scent and everything he longed for?
A memento of when he’d lost his shit—one of many times he’d lost his shit—when he’d learned she’d packed the damn dryer sheets and not the dryer lint?
“It’s lemon verbena-scented,” he offered as if that would somehow reduce the creeper factor.
However, from his father and Maureen’s continued wary appearance, it didn’t.
“What happened, honey?” Maureen asked, concern etched on her face.
He slumped into the chair. “I was a real asshat, Maureen. I made twenty people think Georgie was a sex maniac whose favorite color was rose, which I then said was pink and argued with her when she told me I was wrong.”
“You are wrong. Rose is the color rose. It’s the shade halfway between red and magenta,” Maureen replied.
Jordan shook his head in astonishment. “Do all women know that? Is that something they take you aside for and share with you when you turn a certain age?” he asked, wondering if he was sick on the day they taught the quintessential rose-is-not-pink lesson at school.
“But that’s not what brought you here, son,” his father said gently.
“No, I told you. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want her attached to a man who might…” he trailed off and met Maureen’s gaze.
“Cheat on his wife and stop spending time with his children to flounce around town with women half his age,” Maureen finished.
Hearing her say the words was like a punch to the gut.
“I hate that Deacon did that to you and the girls. It’s selfish and unforgivable,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
Maureen nodded. “I agree. But what I don’t understand is why you would think you’d be a husband like Deacon?”
He stared at the ball of lint. “Because when Georgie and I were at our worst, I reverted to the man Deacon wanted me to be. Someone who put winning, ego, and glory above all else.”
Maureen covered his hand with hers. “And that’s exactly the reason why you won’t turn out like him.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Maureen’s features softened. “Deacon doesn’t want to change. I doubt he even sees his behavior as wrong. He writes it off, thinking because he’s found monetary success, he’s earned a certain kind of life where he can neglect his responsibilities. Don’t you see, Jordan? He doesn’t want to be a better man, and that’s the difference. None of us are perfect. We all have our faults. But you want to do better. You want to be better for Georgie.”
His gaze grew glassy. “She deserves it.”
“She deserves you, honey,” Maureen replied gently.
“I don’t know if she wants me,” he admitted.
Maureen squeezed his hand. “She’s as broken up about this as you are. Remember, I work for you both. I’ve watched her mope around her shop the same way you’ve moped around your gym.”
